African Journey

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RARY

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LIBRAR

AFRICAN JOURNEY

by

ESLANDA GOODE ROBESON

LONDON

VICTOR GOLLANCZ LTD
I 946

DEDICATION

For

the brothers and sisters, who will
know whom I mean

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Between pages 96-97

Matsieng: enclosure of the chief's first wife

View from inside the Council House of Matsieng

Basutos and Basuto house at Matsieng, typical of Basutoland

Matsieng, the chief’s village in Basutoland

Ngite, Pygmy village near Mbeni, Congo

Basutos at Maseru, Basutoland

People at Ngite

Pauli (extreme right) with the Elders of Ngite

Pauli and I (left and right) visit with the Mulamuzi, the chief
justice of Buganda (next to Pauli), at his home in Kampala

‘‘ Old things ” at Hoima, Bunyoro

Mukama of Toro on the steps of his palace

The “ Crown-and-Beard ”

Royal drums at Mukama ’s palace

Palace of Mukama of Toro at Kabarole

Part of the Coronation Walk, in the palace grounds

Coronation House in palace grounds at Kabarole

Beautifully bound inner edge of roof of Coronation House

Gate to Mukama’s palace, at Kabarole

Close-up of bell on gate to Mukama's palace

Veranda of our house at Kabarole," Toro

7

8 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Entrance to very private enclosure in the courtyard of our house

The making of banana wine, Kabarole

Banana wine fermenting in trough. Below, wooden vessel for
finished wine

Market at Kabarole

Bamba dance, Kabarole

Passenger on Nkole ferry

Lady on Nkole ferry

Passenger on Nkole ferry

Ladies of the bisahi (dairy), herdswomen of Toro
Herdsman of Kahungere

A Pondo miner having his hair “ wrapped ” in the compound
at Robinson Deep

African canoes on the Semliki River near Mbeni, Congo
Katwe; salt masses

Wrapping salt in plantain-leaf packages at Katwe

One of the magnificent herds of cattle belonging to the Prime
Minister of Nkole, Uganda, grazing in the plains near
Mbarara

WE GO

I WANTED TO GO to Africa.

It began when I was quite small. Africa was the place we
Negroes came from originally. Lots of Americans, when they
could afford it, went back to see their “old country.” I
remember wanting very much to see my “old country,”
and wondering what it would be like.

In America one heard little or nothing about Africa. I
hadn’t realized that, consciously, until we went to live in
England. There ‘was rarely even a news item about Africa
in American newspapers or magazines. Americans were not
interested in Africa economically (except for a very few
business men like Firestone, who has rubber interests in
Liberia), politically, or culturally. Practically nothing was
or is taught in American schools about Africa. Liberia was
the only place I had ever heard of, and that was because the
United States maintains an American Negro consul there.
Of course when I speak of Africa I mean black Africa, not
North Africa.

In England, on the other hand, there is news of Africa
everywhere: in the press, in the schools, in the films, in
conversation. English people are actively interested in
Africa economically and politically. Members of families
are out in Africa in the civil service, in the military, in
business; everywhere you go, someone’s uncle, brother, or
cousin is working, teaching, administering, or “serving”
in Africa. Women go out to Africa with their men, or go out
to visit them. There are courses on Africa in every good
university in England ; African languages are taught,
missionaries are trained, and administrators are prepared
for work “in the field.” Everywhere there is information
about Africa.

Ai 9

10

AFRICAN JOURNEY

When we first went to England I remember how startled
I was by all this readily available information on Africa. I
had thought, somewhat complacently Fm afraid, that I was
well informed about the Negro question. My grandfather,
the late Francis Lewis Cardozo, was well known for his
early awareness of the Negro problem, and was a pioneer
in Negro education and in the fight for Negro rights. I was
brought up in a household wide awake to every phase of
the Negro problem in America.

There was the hitch : in America, There in England I was
disconcerted by the fact that the Negro problem was not
only the problem of the 13 million Negroes in America,
but was and is the far greater problem of the 150 million
Negroes in Africa, plus the problem of the 10 million
Negroes in the West Indies.

Later on — much later — when I finally began to find out
what it was all about, I came to realize that the Negro
problem was not even limited to the problem of the 173
million black people in Africa, America, and the West
Indies, but actually included (and does now especially
include) the problem of the 390 million Indians in India, the
problem of the 450 million Chinese in Ghipa, a^ well as the
problem of all minorities everywhere.

It is just as well I didn’t realize all this immediately. I
probably would have been floored. As it was I was pretty
much overcome by the fact that I knew so little concerning
the problem about which I had always felt so well informed.
That would never do.

I began reading everything about Africa I could lay hands
on. This proved to be considerable, what with the libraries of
the British Museum, the House of Commons, London
University, and the London School of Economics. I began
asking questions everywhere of everybody. The reading
and the questions landed me right in the middle of anthrop-
ology (a subject I had only vaguely known existed) at the
London School of Economics under Malinowski and Firth,

II

AFRICAN JOURNEY

and at London University under Perry and Hocart. It
was all very interesting and exciting and challenging. At
last I began to find out something about my ‘‘old country,”
my background, my people, and thus about myself.

After more than a year of very wide reading and in tensive
study I began to get my intellectual feet wet. I am afraid J
began to be obstreperous in seminars. I soon became fed up
with white students and teachers “interpreting” the Negro
mind and character to me. Especially when I felt, as I did
very often, that their interpretation was wrong.

It went something like this: Me, I am Negro, I know what
we think, how we feel. I know this means that, and that
means so-and-so.

“Ah, no, my dear, you’re wrong. You see, you are
European. 1 You can’t possibly know how the primitive
mind works until you study it, as we have done.”

“What do you mean Fm European? Fm Negro. Fm
African myself. Fm what you call primitive. I have studied
my mind, our minds. How dare you call me European!”

“No, you’re not primitive, my dear,” they told me
patiently, tolerantly, “you’re educated and cultured, like us.”

“I’m educated because I went to school, because I was
taught. You’re educated because you went to school, were
taught. Fm cultured because my people had the education
and the means to achieve a good standard of living; that’s
the reason you’re cultured. ‘Poor whites’ have neither
education nor culture. Africans would have both if they had
the schools and the money. Going to school and having
money doesn’t make me European. Having no schools and
no money doesn’t make the African primitive,” I protested
ful^iously.

“No, no,” they explained; “the primitive mind cannot
‘grasp the kind of ideas we can; they have schools, but their

* “European,” a term which is very widely and somewhat loosely used
among anthropologists, usually means “white,” not only^ in colour, but also
in culture, in civilization; “European” in their usage generally means a white
person with Western (as against oriental and primitive) education, background,
and values.

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AFRICAN JOURNEY

schools have only simple subjects, and crafts; it’s all very
different. You see, we’ve been out there for years and years
(some ten, some twenty, some thirty years) ; we’ve studied
them, taught them, administered them, worked with them,
and we know. You’ve never been, out there, you’ve never
seen them and talked with them on their home ground ; you
can’t possibly know.”

It all sounded nonsense to me. And yet the last bit made
sense — maybe. I’d better check it. Paul and I began to seek
out all the Africans we could find, everywhere we went: in
England, Scotland, Ireland, France; in the universities, on
the docks, in the slums. The more we talked with them, the
more we came to know them, the more convinced we were
that we are the same people: They know us, we know them;
we understand their spoken and unspoken word, we have
the same kind of ideas, the same ambitions, the same kind
of humour, many of the same values.

I asked Africans I met at universities, taking honours in
medicine, in law, in philosophy, in education, in other
subjects: “What is all this about primitive minds and
abstruse subjects, about only simple subjects and crafts in
your schools?”

“Oh, Ma/,” they said with a twinkle, “there’s nothing
primitive about our minds in these universities, is there?
And how can we cope with any but simple subjects and
crafts in our schools, when that is all they will allow us to
have? Actually, they rarely give us any schools at all, but
they sometimes ‘aid’ the schools the Missions have set up
for us, and those we have set up for ourselves with our own
money and labour. But they definitely limit our curricula.”

I began to see light. It was the old army game every Negro
in America will recognize: The white American South says
the Negro is ignorant, and has a low standard of living;
the Negro says the South won’t give him adequate schools or
decent wages.

With new confidence I began to ask more questions in
seminars. And always I came up against the blank wall:

AFRICAN JOURNEY I3

‘‘But I was out there thirty years — I know. You have, never
been out there — you simply don’t know.”

“I one, so I know.”

And they would say: “You’re different; you’ve met a
few European-educated Africans who are different too.”

This pattern was familiar to me also. In America Negroes
get the same reaction: White America generalizes in its
mind about the primitiveness, ignorance, laziness, and smell
of Negroes. When we protest that these descriptions are
just not true of us, nor of millions of our fellow Negroes,
they answer: “But you are different; you are the exceptions.”
No matter how many facts we marshal to prove their
statements untrue, they close their minds against these facts.
It is more convenient for them to believe their own
generalizations than to face the facts. So the facts become
the “exceptions.” But we “special” Negroes look closely
and thoughtfully at the facts. We know we aren’t essentially
different from our fellow Negroes. We know alSo that other’s
merely stiying we are different does not make us so.

So far so good. But I had no answer to the constant “You
have never been out there.” Very well, I would go. I’d just
have to go out to Africa and see and meet and study and
talk with my people on their home ground. Then I would be
able to say truly: I have been there too, and I know,

Paul couldn’t go to Africa with me. He had contracts
ahead for two years and couldn’t risk not being able to fulfil
them. We knew nothing, firsthand, about climate and con-
ditions in Africa. Paul doesn’t stand the heat well, changes
of climate are hard on him, changes of diet and water put
him off. Perhaps it was best for me to go first, find out as
much as I could about everything, and next time we could
go together.

And so we began to plan : While I was away. Mother could
go to Russia to visit my two brothers- who live and work
there. Paul would go to Russia later on and spend some time
with Sergei Eisenstein, who was making a film in the country
outside Moscow. The idea of Paul making a Russian film

14 AFRICAN JOURNEY

had been discussed; this would give him a chance to perfect
his Russian and observe Soviet methods of film making.

That disposed of everybody but Pauli, our beloved only
child. He was eight — a fairly tender age; he was sturdy, but
Mamma had always most carefully supervised his diet
and general regime, which was rather strict. But he was
adventurous, like me.

What was more important, Paul and I remembered vividly
the time when, on the set of the Sanders of the River film,
Pauli had been astonished and delighted to see all the
Africans. “Why, there are lots of brown people,” this then
six-year-old had said happily, “lots of black people too;
we’re not the only ones.” We had been profoundly dis-
turbed by the realization that he had been living in an
entirely white world since we had brought him and my
mother to live with us in England, when he was ten months
old. The only Negroes he had seen besides ourselves and
Larry (Lawrfcnce Brown, our colleague and accompanist)
were the occasional ones who visited at our home. His
young mind had thought we were the only brown people in
a totally white world.

We must do something about that, we had said then.
Well, this is it; this is what we’ll do. If some Africans on a
film set open up a new world to the child, a trip to the heart
of Africa itself will be a revelation. He will see millions of
other brown and black people, he will see a black world, he
will see a black continent. So it was decided that Pauli
would go with me.

We made our plans : We would go by sea from England
to Capetown and Port Elizabeth, right at the bottom of
South Africa. We would try to connect up with Bokwe, our
African friend who had finished medicine at Edinburgh
University and gone home to Alice, Cape Province, to
practise; and his sister Frieda and her husband Zach
Matthews, whom we had known in London when* he was
attending the Malinowski seminars; they and their children

AFRICAN JOURNEY I5

also lived at Alice, where Matthews was teaching at Fort
Hare, the African college. Then we would go on to Johannes-
burg and maybe see the mines; and perhaps work in a trip
to Swaziland; and maybe I could manage to run up to see
Tshekedi Khama, the African regent we had all been so
thrilled about. Then we would go down to Mozambique
in Portuguese East Africa, pick up a ship and sail up the east
coast to Mombasa, &nd go overland by train to join Nya-
bongo, an African student of anthropology at Oxford, who
would be at home in Uganda for the summer. It was
arranged that Nyabongo would meet us at Kampala and
take us out to his home in Toro, where I planned to do my
field work on the herdspeople. Then we would fly home from
Entebbe. All very ambitious.

We got down to brass tacks. There were vaccinations and
injections to be taken at the Hospital for Tropical Diseases.
There was shopping to do : tropical clothes, mosquito boots,
cholera belts for Pauli and me; tropical luggage; my Cine-
kodak to cheek, and a lot of films especially packed for the
tropics to buy. Paul gave me a gem of a camera, a Rolleiflex.
“You can’t take too many pictures,” he said wisely. There
were ship and rail reservations, passports to be put in order,
visits to the Colonial Office, and visas.

The visas were the real problem. It seems if you are
Negro, you can’t make up your mind to go to Africa, and
just go. Oh, no. Not unless you are a missionary. The white
people in Africa do not want educated Negroes travelling
around seeing how their brothers live ; nor do they want those
brothers seeing Negroes from other parts of the world, hear-
ing how they live. It would upset them, make them restless
and dissatisfied; it would make them examine and re-
examine the conditions under which they, as “natives,”
live; and that would never do at all, at all. In fact it would be
extremely dangerous. Something must be done to prevent
this ‘‘contact.” But what to do? It's simple: just keep all
other Negroes out of Africa, except maybe a few who will
come to preach the Gospel. The Gospel always helps to keep

X6 AFRICAN JOURNEY

people quiet and resigned. And how to keep them out?
That's simple, too : just don't grant them visas. So they don't
grant them visas. Voild.

I had had a fair amount of experience travjplling about
with Paul and Larry all over Europe and to Russia. On
concert tours I always took care of tickets, passports,
itinerary, foreign monies for us all. For this trip I planned a
rather elastic itinerary, bought steadier reservations at
Cooks', hied me to the Colonial Office for visas to Swaziland,
Basutoland, Kenya, Uganda, Egypt (for the air trip
home).

The Colonial Office wanted to know why I was going.
I was going out to do my fieldwork for a degree in anthro-
pology. When I presented my credentials from the professors
at school the Colonial Office was helpful and gave me all
the visas.

Then to South Africa House, but no South African visa.

‘‘Why not?" I asked innocently. Well, it seems all visas
are granted from the home office in Capetown, and mails
take time. “All right, it takes time. I have time; I'll come
back."

Our arms swelled up and became stiff and sore from the
vaccinations and injections. Our luggage accumulated, and
the time for sailing drew near. Back to South Africa House —
still no visas.

“Still no word," they said.

“I’ll gladly pay for cables, to hurry it up," I said.

A few days more, and still no word.

“Til gladly pay for telephone calls through to the Cape-
town office,” I said.

Another few days, and still no visa.

Then Paul and I took counsel.

“They’re not going to give us visas," I said. “I recognize
the run-afound in this ‘still no word' business."

We were angry, frustrated.

I said, “They will have to tell me no, and why, before I
give up."

AFRICAN JOURNEY I7

“So they will tell you no,” said Paul, “and then you
can’t go.”

“But Tve got to go,” I said. “Pauli and I will just get
on that ship, with or without visas. When we get there, all
they can do is to refuse to let us land. If they do that. I’ll
set up a howl there, and you can set up a real howl here,
and then maybe they’ll do something.”

“It sounds crazy,” said Paul, “just crazy enough to work.
The worst that can happen is that you’ll miss South Africa
and have to go right on up the east coast without stopping
off.”

Cooks’ said I couldn’t sail without visas. It just wasn’t
done.

“But we’ve got visas,” I said, waving our passports.
“Swaziland, Basutoland, Bechuanaland, Kenya, Uganda,
Egypt.”

“Well ” said Cooks’.

“Well,” I said firmly, “we’ll go, and if necessary we’ll
just have to miss South Africa.”

So we set out. On May 29, 1936, Pauli and I took the
boat train from London to Southampton, for the steamship
Winchester Castle, of the Union Castle Line. We bade good-
bye to Mother at the flat. Paul took us to Waterloo Station
and settled us in the train. Larry came to see us off.

Paul said, as he kissed us good-bye: “I’ll stay right here
in London near the telephone till you are well on your way
at the other end, and this visa business has been cleared
up.”

He is such a dear person. It was a wrench to leave him.
He and Pauli had spent all the day before at Lord’s, sitting
on the bleachers m the sun holding hands, watching a
cricket match. Pauli found it hard to leave him too. But
we had each other, and we were oflf on high adventure.
We sat close together and held ' hands all the way to
Southampton.

AFRICAN JOURNEY

May 30. On board the s.s. Winchester Castle. All day today
in the Bay of Biscay. The sea looks calm but there is a lot
of underneath motion. Pauli is ill, and I am certainly
uncomfortable.. We spend most of our time on deck out in
the air. We keep ourselves very much to ourselves, and are
entirely self-sufficient. I brought lots of good books, games,
and jigsaw puzzles, so we manage to have a very good time
together. The passengers seem friendly enough, but I am
taking no chances. They are mostly South Africans, whose
attitude toward the Negro I find very familiar, very like
that of our “Deep South” Southern white folks in
America, only more so. So I will be extremely cautious
socially.

Our double first-class stateroom with private bath is
pleasant and comfortable. The food and service are excellent,
so it looks like a good trip. Our only stop before we reach
the bottom of Africa will be Madeira.

May 31. The sea is calm and smooth, thank goodness. We
keep losing time as we go south : set our clocks back eighty-
three minutes the first night, and fifteen minutes last night.

Played shuffleboard on deck with Pauli, and some deck
tennis. He is certainly good at games. He had a grand swim
in the ship’s pool this morning; he finds he can go in twice
a day — before breakfast and at four-thirty, the hours for
men.

The passengers are beginning to take an interest in him.
He is very shy and retiring, and they have to make all
the overtures.

Had a cable from Bokwe. He says he will meet us at Port
Elizabeth, and is arranging our itinerary down there.

19

20

AFRICAN JOURNEY

Probably that means he will take us up to his home in
Alice, Cape Province.

June I. Calm day with very little sun. The few English
passengers complain bitterly because of it.

The passengers are becoming very friendly with us', and
stop at our deck chairs to talk. Children are seeking Pauli
out and keep taking him away for games and explorations. He
is gay and sings all day, so I know all is well. A lot of people
asked me to be sure to come to the dance on deck in the
evening, so I did. Pauli sat up with me, very smart in his
grey flannels, whit^ shirt, navy bow tie, and black shoes
and socks. He watched me with critical approval as I danced
every dance. We both went to bed at ten o’clock, exhausted.

The ship calls at Madeira in the morning, and we will
have a few hours ashore.

June 2. Madeira. Up early. We anchored in the harbour
at seven, in pouring rain. Mist obscured everything at first,
but after breakfast it cleared and we could see the lovely
island. An extraordinary island, far out off the coast of
Morocco, rising 3,000 feet straight up out of the sea, sheer
and green and beautiful, but so isolated as to be a little
frightening, I thought.

The harbour was filled with fishing boats riding anchor
a little way out to sea. Hundreds of smaller boats, filled with
local articles for sale, came out to meet the ship. Boys dived
from them for pennies which the passengers threw into the
sea. Pauli was lost in admiration for their underwater
swimming.

I bought two lovely wicker deck chairs with leg rests for
two dollars each, a cigarette holder for Paul, a Portuguese
banjo for Pauli, and lots of postcards.

We left the ship with other passengers in a motor launch
for the shore trip. Pauli loved going down the steep but sturdy
steps made fast to the side of the ship, and speeding across
the blue water of the lovely harbour to Funchal, the town

21

AFRICAN JOURNEY

nestled at the foot of the island. He was interested to see
that the people were quite brown. Not ‘‘our kind of brown,”
but swarthy, deeply and permanently browned by the sun.
(Madeira is Portuguese.)

A guide took us by bullock cart up to the mountain
railway. This cart is a kind of pony cart on sled runners,
drawn by a pair of oxen ; the runners slide along the smooth
worn cobblestones of the narrow streets with a jerky motion.
The mountain railway took us straight up to the top of the
island. Here we got a gorgeous view of the place as a whole:
the harbour, our ship tiny in the distance ; the beach, looking
like a little strip of coal: Close up we had seen that it was
made of dark slate-coloured stones which look black when
wet. Lovely pine-covered cliffs, waterfalls, terraces, banana,
eucalyptus, and palm trees, sugar cane, and flowers, flowers
everywhere.

We came down the mountain by sledge — the same kind
of pony cart on runners, this time without the oxen but with
two men to guide it and its own momentum to send it down.
The drivers often stopped to grease the runners with fat-
drenched rags. It was a fascinating jerky toboggan effect —
flying over the smooth cobblestones; we found it very
exciting.

We returned to the ship at ten-thirty, and sailed at eleven.
A very full morning. We lay in our new wicker deck chairs
the rest of the day, resting, reading, and writing.

June 4. We are off Dakar, Senegal, West Africa. The air is
very heavy, the sea grey and hot and calm, the sky lead
coloured. And it is a grey and heavy thought that between
1666 and 1800 more than five and a half million kidnapped
Africans, my ancestors, began the dreadful journey across
the Atlantic from this very stretch of coast, to be sold as
slaves in the “new world.” I say began the journey, because
records show that more than half a million of them died en
route. No wonder the sea and sky and the very air of this
whole area seem sinister to me.

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AFRICAN JOURNEY

June 6. We have been gradually getting acquainted with our
shipmates. Last night Mrs. G., the South African lady of
about seventy, very big, rough, and kindly, who sits at the
next table in the dining salon, got talking to us about
Cecil Rhodes. She continued the conversation later on deck,
long after Pauli went to bed. Her late husband knew
Rhodes well, they were great friends and often went on long
trips together. A few months ago she climbed up to Rhodes’
grave where he lies beside Jameson, and looked over the
Matoppos. She said it is a beautiful and lonely sight — vast —
and one has to sit and contemplate the frailty of man and
the magnificence of the universe. She said she went on from
there to see Victoria Falls, which have quite another kind
of magnificence.

Mrs. G. has been through the Boer War, the Jameson
Raid, and the First World War. She had been in Europe
during the latter because her sons were fighting, and she
wanted to be near them. She was born in the Orange Free
State. Paul Kruger lived in the same village. She does not
admire Kruger, says he was crude and uneducated. Smuts
used to play in her garden with her brother, and she has
known him all her life. I must cultivate this woman. She
is part of South African history.

We have come to know a very charming South African
family aboard, a Mr. and Mrs. R. and their daughter Molly,
from Johannesburg. Molly is a very attractive child a little
older than Pauli; they play beautifully together. She tells
us that in her part of South Africa it is a law in many
residential sections that no one can build a house unless
he has at least an acre of ground. This is to prevent crowding.
The Boer ideal is “not to see his neighbour’s smok^.”

Had another talk with Mrs. G. on deck this morning.
She is fascinating. She told me of her farm in the Orange
Free State where she raises cattle for export. She talked
about the old days, and about visiting her daughter who,
with her young husband, had a cattle farm in the Belgian
Congo. This farm was four hundred square miles and had

24

AFRICAN JOURNEY

fourteen rivers on it, and was in the heart of the tsetse-fly
and mosquito district. She held Pauli a^id me spellbound
describing this visit:

She went from Southern Rhodesia up to Elizabethville
and right on up to Bukama in the Congo ; thence by drazoon
(little railroad workers’ carriage on wheels, worked by hand)
the rest of the way through the leopard forest to the farm.
She said the forest was very frightening, with the great
brutes lying up in the branches of the trees, quiet and deadly.
The drazoon was open, but went by so swiftly and unex-
pectedly and with such strange noise that the beasts seemed
unprepared to spring. Of course she and the men were well
armed.

The cattle farm became very successful, and the Belgians
later built a railway right through. Now they ship the cattle
down to Walvis Bay on the coast of Southwest Africa,
where it is slaughtered, frozen, and exported.

While she was on the farm her son-in-law sent for the
Natives to come in and dance for her, and 4,oop turned up.
‘‘It was an extraordinary sight, the countryside was black
with Natives.”

Mrs. G. told us about the famous game reserve, Kruger
National Park in the Transvaal. There are 8,000 square
miles kept in their natural state, where lions, leopards,
baboons, giraffes, hippopotamuses, and zebras roam un-
molested by man. It takes three days to go through. You
go in a closed car with lots of windows, with a keeper who
has a sealed gun which he may use only in self-defence.
Visitors are not allowed to carry guns at all. You spend the
nights in the park’s rest camps. She says the best time is at
sunset when all the animals go down to drink. It is strange
to see the lions pounce on the zebras and bucks and kill
them. The zebras and bucks always keep their heads
cocked on the alert, in fright, and it is sad to watch them.
(I see that I will have to try to take Pauli through this park.
For him it will be all the zoos, plus.)

Mrs. G. said she once crossed the Zambesi River on a

AFRICAN JOURNEY 25

Native-built raft, on which were a hundred Natives on the
way to labour camps. The raft was surrounded by crocodiles
which seemed covered with some white stuff. She asked what
it was and they told her it was a covering of tiny tick-birds
which eat all the vermin off the backs of the huge animals.
The Zambesi is swarming with crocodiles, which get their
prey by swishing them into the water with their powerful
tails.; while the victim is struggling in the water, the crocodile
seizes him with its great jaws and drags him underwater
until he drowns.

June 7. Sunday. Off Liberia, west coast. Liberia ! That high
hope which turned out to be such a disappointment. Liberia
was to be the country where freed Negroes were to be really
free, and were to help develop and educate their African
brothers. And what happened? In time the freed Negroes
(Americo-Liberians as they are called) followed the pattern
of other colonial peoples — exploiting and enslaving the
Africans, the Liberians. Considering the high purpose for
which this black colony was founded, and the brave demo-
cratic principles upon which this now so-called republic
is supposed to rest, the backwardness, poverty, and lack of
franchise among the subject Liberian people as against the
wealth and official corruption among the ruling Americo-
Liberian citizens makes a shameful picture — a disgrace to the
“Republic’’ and to the United States which sponsors it.

The air has been growing steadily heavier, and everybody
is frankly perspiring. The ship’s staff' turned out in white
duck this morning — officers, waiters, and all — and very
fresh they look. The fans are turned on in the dining salon.

The sea looks positively steamy. Last midnight we had
our first heavy tropical storm. It poured down in torrents
and there was a most peculiar wind. The sea was smooth
and heavy, as though it was oil instead of water, and the
humidity was terrific.

The passengers were very much annoyed because the
captain asked the men in shirt sleeves to leave the dining

26

AFRICAN JOURNEY

room and put on their coats. It was sweltering. Lunch is
surely the informal meal. Some of the men had lunch in
their rooms and on deck rather than return. This strict
formality when everyone is pouring with perspiration
seems odd.

There was church service this morning in the lounge.
All during the voyage, second- and third-class passengers
may not come to our first-class decks, pool, lounge — except
on Sunday for the Divine Service. Then they may come up
and pay their respects to God, first class. We can all go to
their decks freely at any time.

We crossed the equator late this afternoon. We all expected
the weather to continue hot, but it was marvellous: cool,
fresh, clear, very pleasant and restful. The storm must have
cleared the air. And we saw flying fish for the first time:
little silver- white fish about the size of a large sardine.
They leap out of the water, skim along for a few minutes
above the surface, then go under again. It is fun to watch
them.

The nights are pretty hot in the tropics so far, but we
always get a cool breeze before sunrise and all during the
early morning.

I went swimming in the pool with Pauli during the last
few days. The humidity had done my hair up anyway, so I
thought I might as well enjoy some good swims. It is great fun
playing with the peculiar waves made by the roll of the
ship.

Had a pleasant and interesting talk with Mr. F., the
young English colonial passenger on his way back to his
cattle and tobacco farm in Marandellas, Southern Rhodesia.
He and Pauli have been playing a lot of deck tennis together.
Young F. is an expert player but has a slight foot disability,
and Pauli’s speed and agility are just what he needs. Together
they form a team and challenge all comers.

Mr. F. was telling me about the present premier of
Southern Rhodesia, a Mr. Huggins — a young man who is
really informed about Native affairs and who takes his job

AFRICAN JOURNEY 1^7

seriously and intelligently. Mr. F. is going to send him a
letter introducing me, so that if I go through Salisbury
where he lives, I may meet and talk with him. Very .kind
and helpful.

Although nearly everyone on board has had long and
leisurely talks with me, this is the very first time anyone has
even so much as mentioned the all-important subject of
Native affairs.

Young F. got talking about his own life: When he first
went out to Marandellas with one Native only, it was
nothing but bush. He and his Native, working against time,
planted his first crop of tobacco. They worked all day long
till they were exhausted, then fell into sleep. He dared not
even stop to build a hut, because they just had to get the
crop in. The first night his Native slept by the fire, and he on
a’ camp bed covered with a blanket, under the stars. He
was awakened by the Native leaping into bed with him.
‘‘Of course I kicked him out.” The Native had been
frightened by a lion roaring. They built up the fire and lay
down again. Some nights later they began to be disturbed
regularly, and to be awakened by the horrible screaming of
baboons which were being attacked by leopards. He said
it was the most frightful sound. Nights later he was awakened
by a hyena snatching at his blanket, and woke up howling
at the top of his voice — which frightened the hyena away.
But that was really the limit, so next morning he and his
Native built a hut.

He took no precautions at all — didn’t know any in those
days — and had a bad go of dysentery, then malarial fever,
then blackwater fever, and kept being carted off to hospital
but having to come right back, because he dared not leave
that first crop.

June 8. We have begun to put .our clocks forward again. We*
are one day out of the tropics and the weather is clear and
cool and lovely. Our waiter tells us it gets colder as we near
Capetown. He says our Christmas is South Africa’s mid-

28

AFRICAN JOURNEY

summer, and they celebrate Christmas and New Year’s
with picnics out-of-doors. Our summer is their winter.
A bit confusing at first.

June 10. We have run into the “Cape Rollers” and believe
me they are most uncomfortable. They are said to be caused
by the meeting of the Indian Ocean with the South Atlantic,
and the great difference in their temperatures causes currents
and swells. Often it is very, very rough around the cape and
far up on both sides as well. Thank heaven the ship is steady,
and I can manage, although I took to my bed when we first
ran into the rollers yesterday.

Mrs. G. was telling me about Julius, her Native servant
(“boy” as they are called) who has been with her for years.
He drives her car and is general houseman, I gather. It
seems he fell in love with one of her maids. Native of course,
and Mrs. G. became interested in the romance. “I gave her
a lovely wedding dress, and they were married right in my
own parlour. And Julius said a white bride could not have
looked as lovely as his black one did.” I could almost feel I
was at home again, listening to a white Southerner from our
own Deep South. I think it will be easy for me to under-
stand the South Africans: Their attitudes, especially their
patriarchal attitudes, are entirely familiar.

I have been asking the passengers, discreetly I hope, about
the Gape Coloured people. Everyone seems a bit interested
in the Gape Coloured, but very worried and shy about the
Natives. I gather they feel rather safer with the Coloured,
because they are “ more like the Europeans,” and their
ideal is to become European. They are given just enough
encouragement to make them feel themselves “above”
the Native and “diiBferent” from him. Then too, their
numbers are comparatively few : They are less than half the
"number of the European population. The Natives are so
much stronger numerically than the Europeans, and so
entirely different, that they are frightening. And they have
no desire whatever to become European, which makes them

AFRICAN JOURNEY 29

more frightening. (Natives are more than three times greater
in number, in Sbuth Africa, than Europeans. Hailey gives
the numbers for all of Africa: Europeans 4,014,424, as against
the total population of roughly 150,000,000).^

I find myself recognizing the tone of voice, the inflection
of these South Africans. “Native” is their word for our
“nigger”; “non-European” for our Negro; “European”
means white; and “South African” surprisingly enough
does not mean the millions of original black people there,
but the white residents born there, as distinguished from the
white residents born in Europe who are called “colonials”
or “settlers.”

June 13. It is getting colder every day, clear bright cold, and
the days are closing in. The twenty-first of June is the
longest day in the Northern Hemisphere, and the shortest
here in the Southern. Now it gets dark at six in the evening.

There was a brilliant sunset a few nights ago: a huge
flaming red ball in a sky of blue ; then suddenly the ball of
fire almost ran down to the horizon, hung there for a moment
then disappeared into the water — all in less than ten minutes.
In another few minutes it was quite dark. They tell me the
sunsets and sunrises here are very brilliant and very sudden.

Molly tells us storms are usually sudden and terrific.
The lightning is so brilliant and so destructive that it lights
up the whole countryside, splits huge trees, encircles the
metal of cars, kills people and cattle. One must be very
careful of cloudbursts, especially out on the veldt, because
it becomes flooded in a few minutes and you are marooned.
It all sounds very violent.

June 14. We are due at Capetown early tomorrow morning.
Will surely be glad Jo see land again, and to feel it under our
feet.

The figures in this book are taken from the most accurate censuses and
estimates available, in England and in America. They have been rechecked
by me as of December, 1943.

30 AFRICAN JOURNEY

It is heavenly cool today with brilliant sun, and the sea
is like glass. We saw a whale this morning; it came up not
very far off our port side and blew, then sank and rushed
away sending up spouts of water every few minutes in the
distance. Albatrosses are all about the stern of the ship —
huge white birds about seven feet across, with snowy
breasts.

The South Africans aboard are becoming more and more
excited as we near Capetown. Everyone tells us proudly
about the beauty of Table Bay and Table Mountain.
When clouds obscure the perfectly flat top of the mountain
they say, “There is a tablecloth on the mountain.”

We have been getting cheerful and loving cables from
Paul regularly all during the voyage. Today he cabled that
Dr. Schapera, head of anthropology at Capetown University,
whom we met in London at Malinowski’s, will call for us
when we reach Capetown. That is good news. Paul must
have been very busy on the home front about that visa.

June 15. We anchored in Table Bay at three o’clock this
morning. I could see the lights of Capetown just ahead.
We docked at seven. It was pouring with rain, a heavy
misty driving rain, and there were so many tablecloths on
Table Mountain we couldn’t see it at all.

Newspapermen searched me out and interviewed me from
eight to nine o’clock in the ship’s lounge. Newspapermen
are the same the world over. They can ask some very ticklish
questions and corner you into making rash statements, if
you are not very careful. Fortunately fifteen years with
Paul have given me some experience and caution. The
interviews went something like this.

Reporters: Why have you come to South Africa?

Me: For a visit. I’m really on my way to Uganda to do field
work in anthropology.

Reporters: Why isn’t Mr. Robeson with you? Was he nervous
about coming? Nervous about the race question?

31

AFRICAN JOURNEY

Me: Jble is detained in London on business.

Reporters: Are you interested in Native conditions here?

Me: Yes, of course. I don’t know anything about them,
however.

Reporters: Will you try to find out about them while you are
here?

Me: (In my mind : This is a trick question, Essie, be care-
ful.) I’m afraid I won’t have time. I’m sailing almost
immediately with the ship. (In my mind: I’ll certainly
see as much as I can, and find out all I can. That’s really
what I came for.)

Reporters: Will Mr. Robeson come to South Africa for
concerts?

Me: I think he would like to, but he is booked solidly for the
next two years.

Reporters: Has Mr. Robeson expressed his views about
segregation and discrimination in South Africa?

Me: He has expressed his views on segregation and dis-
crimination in general, everywhere. I don’t think we
know enough about the specific problems in South Africa
to express an intelligent view about them. (In my mind:
I hope to find out as much as possible about them while
I am here, so we will be able to express a view about them
in the future.)

Reporters: From your study of anthropology, do you believe
the primitive mind is capable of assimiliating European
thought and culture?

Me: The Africans I have met abroad, especially those in
universities, seem to have had no difficulty doing so.

Reporters: How much European blood have you?

Me: (Mischievously, but truthfully) Some Spanish, English,
Scottish, Jewish, American Indian, with a large majority
of Negro blood. I consider myself Negro, and have always
been considered Negro by white Americans.

Reporters: Will you be studying any political aspect of the
Native question in your field work?

Me: I hope to do a study of the herdspeople in Uganda. I

32

AFRICAN JOURNEY

don’t know yet whether they have a political aspect,

(In my mind: I hope that sounds innocent enough!)
Reporter: What do you think will be the outcome of the

Joe Louis — Max Schmeling fight?

Pauli: (promptly taking over) Joe Louis will win, of course,

I escaped from the reporters and went over to speak to a
delegation of Coloured people and Africans who seemed to
be waiting for me. We had an interesting few minutes
together and made definite plans to meet later in the day
and tomorrow, and they promised to show me as much as
they could.

Then Dr. Schapera, together with his colleague Mr,
Goodwin, head of archeology at Capetown University,
came on board to fetch us. Our first stop was at Cooks’,
where I put through a telephone call to Paul, in London,
Dr. Schapera arranged for me to receive the call in his
office at the university, so we didn’t have to wait around.

Capetown is a beautul city, spacious and modern. The
harbour and mountains make a perfect setting.

At the university we first went through the museum.
Saw the very interesting Bushman Collection: life-sized
figures of Bushmen, some originals of their rock-paintings
and chippings (an especially marvellous one of an elephant).
The curator gave Pauli some Bushman beads made of
ostrich eggshells, and me some fine photographs of the rock-
carvings and paintings. Dr. Schapera gave me some African
divining bones — a set of four, made of wood. We are already
accumulating things.

Up in Schapera’s office the telephone operator rang up
to say the London number did not answer, and could she
try another number? I gave her Jean Forbes Robertson’s.
Jean has the flat across the hall from us and will run over
and bang on the door to rouse Paul, or will give him a
message. Sure enough, in a few minutes we were talking
with Paul. His big beautiful voice sounded so clear and

AFRICAN JOURNEY 33

near, as though he were just around the corner. Pauli
talked too, his eyes big and delighted and incredulous as
he listened to his father’s voice.

When I called back the South African operator to find
out the cost of the call, she said excitedly; “That was Mr.
Robeson’s voice, wasn’t it? We were all so thrilled to hear
it. It sounds exactly like it does on the screen and on records.
Are you his wife? And was that his little boy who talked?
We hope you both have a pleasant visit in South Africa,
and we hope Mr. Robeson comes out soon.” (This is the
voice of the little people, and warm and friendly, as usual !)
What with Paul’s own voice, and the spontaneous cordiality
from this most unexpected quarter, I felt we had made a
very good beginning.

We went along to Professor Goodwin’s home for lunch.
His wife was charming, and his three children were sweet
and unaffected and very dear to Pauli. Lady Beatty, wife
of the principal of the university, was also a guest at lunch.
She was a fine elderly Scottish lady — sound, solid, with a
sense of humour, common sense, and great fun.

During lunch Dr. Schapera told us he was concerned in a
new case against Tshekedi; that he, Tshekedi, is now ques-
tioning certain proclamations which the government has
made as being contrary to Native law and custom. Schapera
says it is a highly technical matter, and one of the things
which seems to irritate him is the fact that Tshekedi keeps
talking about the “divine right of kings”! This tickled me
because it sounds like all the other, things I have heard and
read about Tshekedi, this remarkable man who is so rightly
a romantic hero to all Negroes who know about him. I
hope to meet and talk with this fascinating African regent
in his native Bechuanaland. Naturally I said nothing of
this ambition at lunch. Tshekedi is a pretty sore point with
Europeans, I take it.

After a delightful and most interesting visit, my university
friends turned us over to the Coloured people, who took us
to the home of Mrs. Gow in the Coloured section of Cane-
Bj

34 AFRICAN JOURNEY

town. Mrs. Gow was formerly Louise Ballow of Richmond,
Virginia — a childhood friend of Hattie Bolling, my dearest
friend in America. So it is a small world. Louise had married
a minister, and they have been out here for years. They
have a little girl of seven. ‘‘Mother'' Gow, the Reverend's
mother, lives with them and is a grand old Negro lady from
Carlyle, Pennsylvania.

Young Mrs. Gow and Mr. Alf Williams, a friendly intelli-
gent young Coloured man took us first to Bethel Institute
in Hanover Street, where 500 children of this Coloured
district awaited us. They were most interesting types:
Indian, Malay, Chinese, and every possible mixture of
these with Africans. They were all shades of tan and brown.
Most of them were very neat, but very poor. Pauli and I
spoke to the children, who then sang for us. They were all
eager for news of the outside world, and seemed to be as
interested in Pauli as he was in them.

Then back to Mother Gow's for a magnificent dinner —
a dinner which would have done credit to Hattie Bolling.
And that is no mean compliment 1

The Gow home is in Woodstock, a suburb of Capetown,
in the Coloured section. Here, as throughout the Union
of South Africa, Coloured people must live in definitely
segregated areas. These areas are usually the slum districts,
near freight yards, in the outskirts or some other undesirable
section of the cities.

After dinner Mr. Williams took us to see his sister’s nursing
home — St. Monica’s, which is in the worst slum in Cape-
town. This Coloured section is known to official government
as District Six, and Coloured people speak of it as “the
Quarter." St. Monica's does very fine maternity work:
Native girls come from the bush all over the north to be
trained here. They receive a splendid practical course of
instruction, as well as general nurse training and experience.
I saw many of the patients, mothers — all African — some
awaiting delivery, some already delivered and learning
how to care for their babies.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 35

The Sister (nurse), Miss Williams, told me about the work:
How thoroughly and practically the girls are trained ;
how they deliver babies in the little operating room here,
sometimes with the best obstetricians in the city. When the
nurses return to their homes in the bush, they must deliver
all alone, in the open, in kraals, in huts, usually with only
the equipment and conveniences they can carry in their httle
bags. In its way the nursing home is really first class. It
is intelligently managed by the Scotswoman whose brain
child it is. She is the only European in the institution.

In the evening we went to a reception in our honour at
Cathedral Hall, still in the Coloured section. It might have
been a reception in any small town or country district in
America — so at home did we feel, and so familiar was the
procedure, the entertainment, the discussion, and the
problems.

I finally found out what the term ‘^coloured’’ means out
here: Any mixture of white blood with African, Indian,
Chinese, or Malay blood, and any mixture of African with
the Asiatic blood is called “coloured.^’

Here in the Union of South Africa there are nearly seven
million Africans, the indigenous native peoples; about two
million white people, including Europeans (white people
born in Europe) and South Africans (white people born in
South Africa) ; more than half a million Coloured people ;
and about a quarter of a million Asiatics, the great majority
of whom are Indians.

It is customary out here to speak of all white people as
‘^European,” and all the rest of the people as “non-
European^’; the oriental people are “Asiatic”; the African
people are “Native,” and the mixtures are “Coloured.”

And so back to the ship and to bed, a very tired Pauli and
an equally tired Mamma.

June 1 6 . Still in Capetown. The ship has to unload its
European cargo and take on intercoastal freight, all of which
takes time.

36 AFRICAN JOURNEY

This morning we shopped: bought a lumber jacket,
khaki shirts and shorts, long flannel trousers for Pauli,
so he may be comfy ‘‘upcountry.” Everything I brought out
for him is for the tropics, and it is cold here.

Went along to Mashew Millen’s Bookshop in Adderley
Street and bought some beautiful photographs of African
types, found several books on Africa I had been looking for
for years and which are out of print.

My errands done, Louise Gow and Alf Williams drove us
out to Livingston School, the only non-Mission school in
South Africa where Coloured children can receive education
as high as the last two years in high school and a year and
a half of teacher training. Students come from all over
South Africa, from as far away as Beira, and one student
comes in daily fom his home thirty miles away.

It is forbidden by law for Coloured and Native children
to attend the same school with Europeans. Coloured schools
are also separate from Native schools.

Here at Livingston the students are every mixture under
the sun: They have bright eager faces, and look well dis-
ciplined and well cared for. The staff is made up of European
and Coloured teachers who are young, attractive, and very
capable-looking. Everyone was much interested in Pauli,
and he in everyone.

From the school we drove out to Langa — our first real
Location. As a Negro citizen of ‘‘democratic” America,
segrated coloured sections of cities are not unknown to me.
But these still further segregated locations are something
different altogether. The Coloured people in South Africa,
as in America, are allowed to live in certain sections within
the city proper, or in the immediate outskirts of the city.
The Natives, however, are forbidden by law to live in these
segregated Coloured sections, or in any part of the cities
whatsoever. They must live in the locations and in the reserves^
which are special areas for them, entirely removed from the
cities {as in the case of Langa, seven miles outside Cape-
town). The only exceptions to this rule, in the whole of

AFRICAN JOURNEY 37

the Union of South Africa, are the Natives in domestic
service or other employment to Europeans in cities; these
Natives may live on or near their employer’s premises, for
the convenience of the employer.

Langa is one of the better locations. It is a big com-
munity — about 2,500 Natives live here — and is set pleasantly
and healthily in a pine forest. It is a little village in itself:
bungalows set out in rows, forming rough streets; three small
schools, and a tiny hospital. There is no paving of any kind,
in fact the last two miles of road from Capetown are of
unpaved dirt and deeply rutted.

The bungalows are of one, two, three, and four rooms.
There are no baths, no toilets, no water of any kind in the
houses. There are community taps and toilets at the back,
serving large groups of houses.

If tenants fall behind in their rent they are evicted and
put in prison.

The superintendent of Langa is a white South African —
a Mr. Cook. He is well paid by the government and has a
nice car. He showed us around and took us to the little
hospital — a nice clean building in the centre of the Location.
The matron is a white Englishwoman, and there is one white
South African and one Native Sister. Matron explained
that most of the cases are severe chest ailments : pneumonia,
bronchitis, tuberculosis. They have one case of relapsing
fever which is worrying them, but she “does not think it is
plague.” No surgical cases are treated here, but are sent
into city hospitals. One good doctor from the city is supposed
to make the rounds at Langa every day.

Mr. Cook then turned us over to Mr. Mama, the delight-
ful schoolmaster of Langa, who might have been a teacher
from Tuskegee or Hainpton in America. He had the children
come out and sing for us so we might see them all. They sang
African songs, complete with clicks (sounds in their Native
language), which were fascinating. They had mobile faces,
eager, intelligent, and friendly — all faces we might have

38 AFRICAN JOURNEY

known at home in America. Mr. Mama and many of the
children spoke English, so that conversation was easy.
Everyone everywhere was cordial and interested and eager
for “outside” news.

As we walked about Langa we saw babies tied to their
mothers* backs, women balancing considerable loads on
their heads, old wornen smoking. We talked with one girl,
a teacher here, whose brother is now finishing medicine
at Edinburgh. That Scottish university seems a far cry from
this Location.

Everyone in Langa is African, except of course the super-
intendent, the hospital matron, and the Sister — Africans
from every corner of the Union who have found work, or
hope to find work, in Capetown and environs.

In the Union of South Africa, Africans are required by
law to live in the Native reserves. These reserves are land
especially set aside and “reserved” by the government for
the African population. They are as remote and isolated as
possible from the cities and towns, with their European
populations.

But in Africa, as in America, the white folks want the
Negroes to work for them. While they proclaim a fear and
horror of Negroes in general living near by, they seem quite
comfortable when the Negroes who work for them live within
call — or indeed live right in their homes.

In order to have a supply of black labour available near
at hand, the Union Government has arranged for “pro-
claimed areas” — proclaimed as delimited for the occupation
of Natives — at convenient distances from centres where
labour is needed. These areas are known as locations.

While the Coloured people may live in segregated districts
in the towns and cities, the vast majority of the seven
million Africans are required by law to live in the isolated
and usually remote Native reserves. They may not go out
from the reserves without written permission (a pass)
to do so, and then only for definitely stated reasons — usually
to look for work.

39

AFRICAN JOURNEY

When the Native is outside the reserve he must live on his
employer’s premises, or in a location. He must have a permit
to live in the location, and he must have permission (a
pass) to travel back and forth to work. No African may be
in any public place in the Union after curfew, except by
special permit.

In some cases when European employers find it impractical
to house their African domestic or other workers, these
workers are allowed to live with the Coloured people in
their segregated areas.

Urban locations may number from 2,500 Africans (as at
Langa) to 18,000 (as at Bloemfontein) to 40,000 (as at East
London). The reserves may contain as many as 850,000
(as in the Traskeiian territories).

The land available in the Union for Native occupation
is 13 per cent of the total; that is, more than 66 per cent
of the population is restricted to 13 per cent of the
land.

And so from Langa back to town. On the road we passed
many Africans trudging back from Capetown, the daily
search for work having been unsuccessful. They had walked
the seven miles into town and seven miles back.

Back in town to St. Monica’s to collect Sister Williams,
who took us to see “the Quarter,’’ where the Coloured people
live. One must see the conditions here to believe them:
Jerry Street with its dreadful one-story three-room houses;
steps up to an unrailed dangerous porch; dark hall through
the house front-to-back; no kitchen, no water, no bath, no
toilet. The cooking sometimes is done in the hall, but
more often done in the yard, in a coal house with stove but
no chimney. Some houses have a rough lean-to kitchen, but
space is at such a premium that this lean-to is nearly always
let out as a room. All the washing is done in the yard,
where there is a community tap and a community toilet.
Every inch of house space is used for sleeping. In every room
are camp beds, cots, pallets, blanket-beds on the floor.

40 AFRICAN JOURNEY

There are three to four people living in every room. Every-
one collects on the porch and steps for light and air.

In one of the few two-story houses I climbed the stairs
with Miss Williams to the second floor, clinging to a hand-
rail which was certainly necessary because the steep narrow
stairs had holes big enough for your foot to slip through.
Someone was making a fire in the hall, preparing to cook
a meal, and smoke rose through the house.

In another house we climbed a sort of ladder (this time
with no handrail to steady us) to a trap door and into a kind
of loft above. Here a mother lived with her two children.
The place was spotlessly clean, with their rags of clothing
washed and hung neatly over a line strung across the room :
a worn-out towel, clean and folded, shabby clothes; and
more shabby clothes hung on hooks on the walls. This
dignified pleasant woman was making the best of her
surroundings.

Miss Williams tells me that St. Monica’s delivers most of
the women in the Quarter and teaches them how to care
for themselves and their children. Nurses often have to put
up a sheet or blanket as a screen in order to deliver a
woman in these rooms. She tells me she has often had to
make a j fire out in the yard in the rain, in order to heat
water, because it was impossible to make a fire indoors
without smoking out the patient. The women welcomed
her everywhere we went.

The people in the quarter are very mixed : every possible
combination of African, white, Indian, Chinese, and Malay.
Some of the women and children are really beautiful.’

' In case my optimistic readers hope, as I had hoped, that something had
been done to clean up these locations, quarters, and slums, I quote from the
most recent account of them, in South of the Congo, by Selwyn James; “I
gathered the material for this chapter in 1939. . . . The war has not raised
the wages for the Bantu [African] and has not cleaned up his slums. Whenever
I write or speak about how the Bantu lives, I get the feeling that what I am
writing or saying is too incredible for others to believe. . . . The dwelling
in the urban areas, with few exceptions, are a disgrace and the majority unfit
for human habitation. . . . These Locations arc set well away from the white
residential areas. They breed disease. The whites don’t go near them. Some
years ago a white investigating committee reported that they were a menace

AFRICAN JOURNEY 4I

To Cooks’ for our passports, and was glad to see that we
now have all the visas for the air trip home — Greece, Italy,
France.

Paid our respects to Mr. Millard, High Commissioner
of the Interior, at Parliament Buildings.

Then back to the ship, and we are now sailing right around
the bottom of Africa, headed for Port Elizabeth. We waved
farewell to Table Mountain, clear and resplendent in the
sunset. This time it did look just like a table.

It seems incredible that we have had just two days in
Capetown. We have seen and learned so much. I am deeply
grateful to my university friends for taking us off the ship,
and for their charming and generous hospitality. And I
shall always appreciate the constructive and tireless help-
fulness of my new Coloured and African friends who
took us, perfect strangers, immediately into their homes,
hearts, and lives.

June 17. The ship’s doctor tells me we are now in the
Antarctic Ocean, and when we turn up the east coast we
shall be in the Indian Ocean. Pauli is picking ujj geography
the easy way.

Mrs. G., who is going on to East London in the ship,
says she is glad I bought warm clothes for Pauli. It is cold
upcountry now, and so many people not used to the climate
contract pneumonia. The days are warm but the air is
cold and thin and very dangerous. Many actors and others
coming out from England come down with pneumonia in
Johannesburg, and Boucher and Fred Terry died of it. So
I will be warned.

Pauli finally heard the story behind Mrs. G.’s limp today.
She is quite lame, and Pauli has been imagining all kinds
of fantastic reasons for the deformity, to fit her romantic

to health, — that is, the white man’s health. . . . The Rev. W. E. Robinson,
a Missionary of Durban, said: ‘There are 30,000 people of all races in Durban
who are housed in improper and unsanitary conditions. As many as 1 1 children
often live in one room.^^^ From South of the Congo y by Selwyn James, published
by John Long, Ltd.

Bi

42 AFRICAN JOURNEY

background. She disillusioned him, however: It seems she
was walking along the street in East London and accidentally
put her foot in an open sewer hole, fell, and broke her hip.
“At my age,” she said in disgust, “after all Fve been
through, to break my leg in a sewer!’'

Made friends with an African nursemaid who came aboard
at Capetown, in charge of some white children. She is from
St. Helena, is black, pleasant, and intelligent. She was
telling me how the South Africans keep trying to pit the
Cape Coloured against the Natives, impressing the former
with the idea that they are better than the blacks — more
“European” — keeping them in separate schools, in separate
living areas. “But,” says my nurse friend shrewdly, “they
take care not to give the Coloured any real rights and
privileges to mark their so-called superiority over the Native,
and finally the Coloured are beginning to understand this.”

She told me that when her sister finished her long and
difficult training as a nurse, and hung up her sign in Jappe,
the Coloured people tore it down at night and stoned her
house. “They weren’t going to have any black nurse.”
Her sister persisted, and now she is very successful, and all
the Coloured people and Natives come to her, thankfully.
The Coloured people tell her they often wonder why they
stoned her wheh she first came.

This nursemaid told me many terrible stories about the
brutality of the Boers (white South Africans with Dutch
ancestry) in their treatment of the Africans. There are many
accounts in the South African newspapers (white) deploring
just such cruelties as she describes. She says it is impossible
to believe that human beings could be so savage, so bar-
barous. She hates and fears them.

We leave the ship tomorrow at Port Elizabeth. Bokwe
cabled that he will meet us there.

It is strange that during all our long leisurely days and
conversations on this ship, no white person has discussed
the all-important Native question. It must surely be
dynamite.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 43

jum 19. Dokwe and Max Yergan met us when the ship
docked yesterday. Bokwe was even nicer than I remembered
him, and Pauli and I liked Dr. Yergan on sight. Big Paul
knows Yergan, and I have heard about him for years, but
somehow had never met him. He has been out here with his
family for more than thirteen years, doing student Y.M.G.A.
work all over Africa. His central office is at Fort Hare,
in Alice.

Bokwe is delighted that we are in good time for his
wedding, which is to be on the twenty-fourth, at Grahams-
town.

We four spent a busy morning in Port Elizabeth: did the
inevitable shopping; saw the famous Snake Farm, which 1
didn’t like very much; visited Mr. Simpson’s African school;
and then went out to lunch at New Brighton, the Native
location outside Port Elizabeth.

New Brighton is built — if one may say it is built at all —
on a former sea bed. It is still damp, and the ground has
not been filled in, but is made of stones and pebbles. It
overlooks the sea and is a village of small one-story two-
and three-room shacks, built entirely of corrugated iron;
terribly hot in summer, bitterly cold in winter, and fright-
fully depressing.

We lunched in one of the little shacks, and five minutes
after we had met our host and his friends, we had forgotten
all about the house, the Location, and its ugliness — and were
deep in an interesting discussion about the forthcoming
all- African, convention to be held at Bloemfontein, the
Orange Free State, within ten days. It will be attended by
representatives from African organizations all over South
Africa, and is the second such convention to be held.

The conversation was very stimulating. I am surprised
and delighted to find these Africans far more politically
aware than my fellow Negroes in America. They under-
stand their situation and the causes for the terrible conditions
under which they live, and are continually seeking — and
are firmly resolved to find — a way to improve their lot.

44

AFRICAN JOURNEY

I got some photographs of the location and of the pathetic
shacks. Had a talk with the inevitable white superintendent,
a South African leatherneck: ‘‘I daresay you are surprised
at the poor conditions you find here,” said he. I said I
certainly was, and he explained that it was because of the
poor wages. Now explain the poor wages, I thought.

We said good-bye to our new friends at New Brighton
after arranging to meet again at the convention. Then we
set out in Dr. Yergan’s car for Grahamstown and Alice.

This was our first glimpse of inland South Africa : lonely
hills and lovely valleys with cattle grazing in the spacious
pastureland; table mountains one to two thousand feet
above sea level; isolated farms surrounded by their miles
and miles of land. And on the roads, Africans walking,
Africans struggling with oxcarts (the usual means of transport
in the immense areas where there are no railroads) ; an
occasional car near the towns and villages; and dust.

We stopped to eat, to rest, stretch our legs. We had tea
on the grass— veldt they call it here. Saw the huge cacti
and the rare scrubby pines.

About four miles outside of Grahamstown we picked up
two African women from a car which was stalled on the
road. They left a young man to watch the car while we all
drove into town and sent a tow. Bokwe and Yergan tell me
that road courtesy is real and necessary out here, where
distances are so great and traffic so scarce. Yergan said he
was once delayed for a day and a half on a road in Basuto-
land, for lack of petrol.

We arrived in Grahamstown at dark, put the women down
at a place convenient for them, picked up Bokwe’s car, and
drove right on to Alice.

June 22. Alice is a very small town where two important
African Mission schools are located, Lovedale and Fort
Hare. Lovedale is kindergarten through high school, with
about a thousand students. Fort Hare is college, with about
two hundred students.

46 AFRICAN JOURNEY

Zach Matthews teaches Bantu Studies (anthropology) at
Fort Hare, and lives with his wife Frieda (Bokwe’s sister)
and their children in a very attractive house in the college
grounds. Max Yergan lives with his wife Susie and their
children in another attractive house on college ground,
near his central office.

We stayed part of the time with the Matthews’ and part
of the time with the Yergans; both families made us very
welcome and more than comfortable. It was wonderful
for Pauli to find children to play with. And such children:
clever, bright, smiling, beautifully brought up. They were
lovely to him, and he in turn adored them.

June 26. These last few days have been absolutely packed.
First there was Bokwe’s wedding in the Grahams town
Cathedral. Irene, the bride, is a Grahamstown girl, and
they were married by the Dean himself. We all drove over
for the ceremony, which came off beautifully. Bokwe was
very smart in his formal English morning dress, and Irene
was beautiful in white satin.

From the cathedral we went to the reception, which was
attended by Africans and Europeans as well, at the com-
munity hall in the Grahamstown Location. There were
toasts, and the Dean made a charming speech. Then there
was a luncheon which lasted for hours, and finally a dance
and supper which continued till four in the morning.

Then we all drove back to Alice, the bride and groom
still in their wedding clothes, and began the celebrations
all over again in Ntselemantzi, the Native location outside
the town.

Here in Ntselemantzi we saw a few of the African customs :
The bride was praised by the poet, a Native from Transkei
who is a student at Lovedale. The people formed a ring
around the bride and groom, who sat on a bench; the poet
stood in the centre orating, praising the bride’s beauty and
character. All during his reading the people (x)mmented
aloud, approvingly.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 47

Then the newly married couple had to walk the length
of the village so the groom could show his bride to his people.
Girls and young women went before and behind them,
“clapping the bride” first to the women, then to the men.
When they arrived at the “place of the women,” all the
women formed a circle around the bride, clapping hands
and dancing. Old women danced too, lightly and well.
The steps were probably the foundation steps of our
Charleston and shuffle, with intricate and imaginative
additions. The bride then dropped money to the women and
was clapped down to the men, where the same thing took
place.

There was a mighty feast : A cow, sheep, goat, and even a
bullock (very special) had been killed for the wedding.
Frieda, Mrs. Moroka, and I peeped into the huge cooking
pots — filled with meat, samp, pudding — steaming merrily
over fires on the ground, and tended by the old women.

I was anxious to see as many details of this village location
as possible. Frieda took me down to the cattle kraals, usually
the “men’s place.” They are quite near the huts and are
large long oval spaces surrounded by shoulder-high fences
made of dried branches and twigs, with no roof. The cattle
are driven into these kraals at night. There were smoking
fires in every kraal.

We went into some of the huts : no windows, no light at all;
rough camp beds, cots, pallets on the floor. No sanitation,
no water. The lucky ones have a candle or an oil lamp.
There is no paving anywhere in Ntselemantzi.

Yet the Africans who live here must have permission from
the government to do so. Every male of eighteen years or
over living in this location must pay the government
$5.00 a year poll tax, $3.75 a year hut tax, $3.00 a year
ground rent, $1.25 a year dog tax, and $0.25 per head per
month cattle dipping tax.^

^ Natives in South Africa paid in one year a total of 000,000 ( $5,000,000)
in poll and hut taxes only. (These and all other money figures have been
translated into dollars and cents at pre-war exchange rates. The present war
has had little effect on rates of exchange as far as this matter is concerned.)

48

AFRICAN JOURNEY

To meet all these taxes and to feed and clothe his family
and educate his children (no education is free for Africans
in South Africa), the man must of course find work. The
average and usual work he can find is as herdboy at twenty-
five cents a week and domestic service at fifty cents a week.
Or he can go to work in the mines at fifteen dollars per
month. But this he hates to do because it means he must be
away from his family from nine to eleven months, doing
dangerous and backbreaking work. Out of these magnificent
wages he must pay the expenses of transportation to and from
the mines, and the inevitable pass fees. These expenses and
fees often eat up 15 to 20 per cent of his total wages.

Before we left Alice, Dr. Yergan took me to see another
location near by, called Burns Hill. This was a little way out
of the town, on a barren bit of ground, and was less crowded
than Ntselemantzi.

All during our visit, at the Matthews’ and at the Yergans’,
there were illuminating and stimulating conversations.
Frieda Matthews and Susie Yergan do social service work
among the women. Bokwe is beginning his practice of
medicine, following his graduation from Edinburgh. Mat-
thews had studied anthropology at Yale and at the London
School of Economics. Yergan was a graduate of Springfield
College, Springfield, Massachusetts. Students and friends
from all over South Africa came to visit and to talk.

The conversation ranged widely: African education (the
lack of it) and how to enlarge and improve it immediately
and practically. The somewhat better state of Negro educa-
tion in America, and how to improve and enlarge that in the
southern states. The political position of the Negro and the
African, and what could be done to improve it. Conditions
in India, and what could be done to win its independence,
(Yergan had recently been to India and had had long talks
with Nehru.) Italy’s activities in Ethiopia, and how they
would eventually affect us all. Japan’s activities in Man-
churia. The deeply disturbing conditions in Spain. The still

AFRICAN JOURNEY 49

more disturbing conditions in Germany, and the possibility
of the return to Germany of her former African colonies.
The complacence of the European powers and the ever-
growing ineffectuality of the League of Nations.

And the one hopeful light on the horizon — the exciting
and encouraging conditions in Soviet Russia, where for the
first time in history our race problem has been squarely
faced and solved; where for the first time the fine words
of the poets, philosophers, and well-meaning politicans have
been made a living reality: Robert Burns’ “A man’s a man
for a’ that”; France’s ''Liberie^ Egalite, Fraternite” ; America’s
“All men are created equal” and “are entitled to life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” All these grand ideas
and statements have been hauled dpwn from the dusty
reference shelves at the back of men’s minds and have been
put into active, vigorous, succes|ful practice by the Russians,
so that men and women and children of all races, colours,
and creeds walk the streets and work out their lives in
dignity, safety, and comradeship.

Big talk, challenging ideas, enthralling discussions. The
walls of our world moved outward, and we caught a glimpse
of things in the large. Maybe we didn’t solve anything.
Maybe we couldn’t. But at least we could know what was
going on. To be aware was to be alive.

And I thought as I talked and listened. These Africans,
these “primitives,” make me feel humble and respectful. I
blush with shame for the mental picture my fellow Negroes
in America have of our African brothers : wild black savages
in leopard skins, waving spears and eating raw meat. And
we, with films like Sanders of the River, unwittingly helping to
perpetuate this misconception. Well, there will be no
sequel to Sander 5\

Pauli was learning too. The children plied him with
questions, and he them. The children spoke beautiful
English, and Pauli learned a little of the local language,
Xosa, and was delighted when he mastered some of the
difficult clicks. There were all kinds of new games.

50

AFRICAN JOURNEY

Mornings before breakfast at the Yergans’, Charles and his
father would play deck tennis against Pauli and me on their
well-kept lawn. We were fairly evenly matched, and soon it
became a matter of family challenge: Yergans versus
Robesons. It was wonderful exercise in the clear cold
morning air and made breakfast more than a routine
meal.

Much, much too soon the time to move on arrived.
Matthews and Yergan were going to the Bloemfontein
Convention, and it was agreed that Yergan would take
Pauli and me with him in his car.

One thing had been disturbing me. Before I came to
realize that Africans, with their exquisite politeness, will
give you things you admire, I had been vocal about my
admiration for the lovely bcadwork I had seen. So Frieda
made a collection of it for me; a beautiful Swazi wedding
headdress and train; an interesting Bechuana navy-and-
white belt ; a fascinating black-and-white Xosa collar ; some
Zulu pieces from Natal; and several “aprons.^’ She had made
the collection as representative as possible, each piece was
typical and beautiful, and so woven as to look and feel and
wear like material. To me it was priceless — a museum
collection, and I would show it everywhere.

So I wanted in return to give the Matthews’ a present.

‘‘They will be hurt if you do; they will refuse it,” said
Yergan.

“If they get it after I’ve gone, they can’t refuse it; and if
I make it impersonal and fun, they won’t be hurt,” I
said.

This amused Yergan, so he decided to help me select it.
It had to be something that would be useful and bring
pleasant memories. Finally we decided on a bicycle for
young Bokwe, the son of the house who was nearly Pauli’s
age. A sturdy grown-up bicycle with all the gadgets, and with
a bell — especially a bell. It was delivered long after we left
Alice, so there was no possibility of protest.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 51

June 26. After lunch yesterday we set out for Bloemfontein
with Dr. Yergan in his car. We drove by way of the
Hogsback, a great mountain ridge more than five
thousand feet above sea level, and stopped for tea at the
Hortons’.

Mr. Horton is the white inspector of schools hereabouts,
and lives in a marvellous house on top of Hogsback. The
view is incredible. Right at the end of his beautiful garden is
the charming chapel where Godfrey Wilson and Monica
Hunter (my classmate in anthropology in London) were
married. I can’t imagine a more romantic setting. The house
itself is perfect, with every convenience, and the wonderful
big long room which overlooks the whole valley is very
peaceful. The Hortons are from Dublin. Their daughter is
with them; their son has just been married and lives in
Grahamstown.

After tea and a delightful visit, we continued on by way of
Cathcart to Queenstown. Coming down Hogsback we saw
virgin woods for the first time — matted tangle of vin^s,
bush, trees — ancient and mossy, dusty, impenetrable,
fascinating, and frightening.

The sunset was glorious, the sky beautiful, and the stars
magnificent. The South African sky on a clear night is some-
thing to remember : deep dark blue, an occasional shooting
star, the Milky Way really milky, and a picture-postcard,!
moon. We could certainly see the man in the moon. Pauli
said he was sure he could reach up and pat his face, and
touch the stars, they seemed so near.

We arrived very late at Queenstown and slept at the Van
Stabel home. The Van Stabels are Coloured, and Mr. Van
Stabel is a minister.

The hospitality of these people is amazing. They turn
their houses upside down to sleep people who pass through
in cars. They prepare beds, prepare meals, prepare road
lunches. You are supposed to bring your own blankets,
because the nights are' so cold. Wool is so expensive no
household could afford enough blankets for the innumerable

512 AFRICAN JOURNEY

guests. Travelling in South Africa, one always carries one’s
blankets and flashlight.

This morning a very interesting and attractive African
lady, a Miss Soga, came to see us. She has been working
with Susie Yergan among the women, and will report on
this work at the Bloemfontein Convention.

We left Queenstown soon after breakfast for Bloemfontein.
Leaving Cape Colony we crossed the important Orange
River (important because it is the boundary between the
provinces, and because the irrigation of the area depends
upon it) into the Orange Free State.

On the roads we saw many Africans trudging in search of
new work, trying to escape the intolerable conditions on the
European farms. Whole families walking along day after
day, carrying all their belongings on their heads.

“Will they find better conditions in the next place?”
I asked Yergan.

“Almost surely not,” he said.

Pauli and I became more and more depressed.

“Can’t we do something? Can’t we give them something?
Would a half-crown help?”

“A half-crown (sixty-two cents) is more than a week’s
wages, when they get wages. Often they don’t see any money
at all from one year’s end to the other,” said Yergan.

^ So at the next town we changed a lot of notes into silver
and, thus armed, took to the road again. We gave one
charming Basuto family two half-crowns, and the man
thanked us with such dignity I could have cried. The giving
along the roads had to be done very tactfully, with delicacy
and respect. At first the Africans looked startled and in-
credulous, then thanked us seriously, happily, and with
great dignity.

Occasionally on the roads we passed families of poor
whites, usually Boers, trekking in their oxcarts. They had
made a failure of their last place and were moving on to
find new land to waste and exhaust. Their faces were often
wild, unkempt, and vacant, rather like roaming house

AFRICAN JOURNEY 53

animals. It is said they are lazy, shiftless, and ignorant, but
these accusations are familiar to us. The same things are
said about Negroes, to ease the consciences of those who
grind us down. The same economic exploitation accounts
for the desperate plight of Negroes and poor whites.

It is very difficult to find authentic information about
these poor whites. The historians and statisticians — their
more fortunate white brothers — are probably too ashamed
to set down the unpleasant and degrading facts about them
in black and white. There are more than 220,000 of them in
South Africa who are unable to equip themselves for
modern competition in labour.

All through this spacious country there are European
farms : neat, well-built white farmhouses nestling in the most
sheltered spots in the wide valleys, with the equally neat,
well-built outbuildings near by for cattle, fowl, and for
storage. Definitely and considerably removed from the
group of buildings are the dirty, ramshackle huts which
house the farmer’s Native labour. Always the cattle,
chicken, and dogs are far better housed than the African
worker. 1

Once we skirted a small branch line of a railroad for a few
miles. Beside the tracks at regular intervals we noticed little
shelters made of corrugated iron, shaped like tents. The
Natives working on the railway beds live in these, some-
times three or four to a shelter. I have never seen anything

^ A white South African investigating committee has this to say about
conditions on the farms: “But in far too many cases the farmer takes little
interest in the welfare of his Natives, and as a class the farm labourers are
generally underpaid and miserably housed and fed. . . . When one considers
that a farmer will place in sole charge of a ‘boy’ 1,000 or more sheep, worth
perhaps $5,000, and pay him 1 1.75 to $3.75 per month (the committee
was optimistic) and provide him with a house, in many cases not sufficiently
decent for a favourite dog, it is not to be expected that the servant will take
that interest in his master’s property that he would if it were otherwise. . . .
It is clear that to some extent the remedy for the alleged scarcity and inefficiency
of farm labour lies in the hands of the farmers themselves. Better treatment,
fair wages and proper accommodations would, no doubt, go far to solve the
labour problem on many South African farms.’’ From The South African
Natives^ edited by the South African Native Races Committee, publish^ by
£. P. Dutton & Go., 1909.

54 AFRICAN JOURNEY

more primitive, not even in the shantytowns in America
during the depression.

And then we saw our first ‘‘mine train,'* filled with
Africans going up to Johannesburg for a term in the
mines. These are the lucky ones who do not have to walk at
least part of the way. They have been recruited from all
over the countryside, and are now hanging out of windows,
filling their eyes With a last picture of their home area
which they are leaving for nearly a year.

In the Orange Free State (“What’s free about it? ’’asks
Pauli) the locations are quite different from those we saw in
the Cape. They are a little nearer the white towns and
villages, and are small and crowded, with no gardens and
no cattle, because there is no land for planting or grazing.
The Africans have here no interest or recreation of any kind.
They have only their work in domestic service, on the farms,
or on the railway beds.

And so we came into the urban location outside Bloem-
fontein, where more than 18,000 Africans live. The first
thing we saw in approaching the location was a large
open city drain, right in the middle of the road.

Dr. Moroka came to fetch us in his new Hudson Terra-
plane, with the gears on the steering wheel (like the one I
drove in Hollywood when we made the film Show Boat).
Dr. Yergan had appointments and work in the location,
in preparation for the convention, so he turned us over to
Dr. Moroka, who took us out to his beautiful home at
Thaba N’Chu, the Native reserve forty-five miles out of
Bloemfontein.

Dr. Moroka is something special: He is forty-five, hand-
some, intelligent, interesting, and with an extremely
attractive personality. He is a graduate from Edinburgh in
medicine; specialized in surgery in Vienna, Paris, and
Berlin. He is very well trained and loves his work.

They tell me in the early days Dr. Moroka’s grandfather
was the Paramount Chief in this section, and when the

AFRICAN JOURNEY 55

Vortrekkers (Boers) came he treated them kindly. They
later repaid his kindness by betrayal. When the question
of the succession arose, there were two sons, one of whom
the old Chief especially favoured. The Dutch deliberately
worked on behalf of the other son, creating and widening
a breach among the people.

Dr. Moroka’s father. Chief Moroka, had held all the land
around Thaba N’Chu for his tribe, the Barolong, and had
himself settled his people on farms before the white man
came. Dr. Moroka is the traditional chief of the tribe. His
sister is married to a sub-chief of the Bechuana and lives
near Serowe. His wife, whom we met in Alice, is an ex-
tremely handsome and charming woman. They have one
child, a three-year-old son named Kenosi (which means:
I am alone.)

I asked if Dr. Moroka’s father, Chief Moroka, had owned
all the land hereabouts. ‘‘Owned?” they asked in surprise,
“No. No one owns land. The land belongs to the tribe^ and
the current chief is merely the custodian for it.”

The idea of individual and private ownership of land is
wholly foreign to African thought. Land is to be used^ not
to be owned.

This fact has created grave misunderstanding all over
Africa. If white men came as friends to the territory of a
chief, and he decided to make them welcome and allow
them to remain, he gave the white man the use of houses and
land. This was merely customary traditional African
hospitality.

If the white men gave the chief some present, large or
small, money or gadgets, in return for his hospitality, this
too was merely customary. The chief was sure he had
given the guests only the use of the houses and land. In
fact, that was all he could give. The land belonged to the
tribe and could never be alienated, in whole or in part,
from the tribe. The white man was equally sure he had
bought the land, had paid for it (paid very, very little, to be
sure), and therefore owned it.

56 AFRICAN JOURNEY

This was one of the great differences in thought and
intention which has wrought such havoc to African society.

For the land, the system of land tenure is the very founda-
tion of traditional African society. The land is economic
and moral security.

“The land question is a fundamental one for government
in Africa. It is fundamental economically, because the Afri-
cans are normally an agricultural and pastoral people.
But in a deeper sense it is fundamental also to the moral
and social order of the tribes. In tribal life the authority
of the chief derives mainly from three things — his position
as custodian (not owner) of the tribal land, as rain-maker,
and as vital link between the tribe’s dead, living, and unborn
members. The tribe does not consist of its living repre-
sentatives alone, but includes as integral parts their ancestors
and their posterity. With the ancestral dead the tribesmen
believe themselves to be in constant touch; for those dead
are tenants of the places where they lie buried. On the
approval and disapproval of the ancestors are based the
sanctions which preserve both the moral structure of the
individual and the social structure of the community. And
in order to benefit fully from the guidance and control of
the great departed, the tribe must needs have access to
their burial places or at least to shrines in the lands they
occupied. ... To evict members of a tribe from the lands
of their fathers is thus not merely to deprive them of their
customary livelihood, but to excommunicate them from
their church, to isolate them from the only intimate spiritual
influences that they know ... to undermine the whole
social fabric that supports them.”^

“The idea is very prevalent that because the majority of
the Negro and negroid peoples of Africa are in a condition
which we call rather loosely ‘primitive,’ there is no such
thing as a law of (land) tenure, because it is unwritten,
and that African governing institutions do not exist. This is
an altogether erroneous view. In point of fact, not only is

' From The Duty of Empire^ by Leonard Barnes, published by Victor Gollancz
Ltd., London, 1935, pp. 128-29.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 57

there a real system of African tenure, but it is an infinitely
better, sounder, healthier system than that which the
British people tolerate and suffer from in their own country.
To most Englishmen this statement will appear absurd.
It is, however, strictly accurate. . . . T conceive that land
belongs to a vast family, of which many are dead, few are
living, and countless numbers are yet unborn.’ That
picturesque phrase, which fell from the lips of a dignified
African ruler, examined by the West African Lands Com-
mittee, symbolises the entire philosophy of African social
life, political, economic and spiritual. The fundamental
conception underlying native tenure all over Africa . . .
where the white man has not destroyed it, is that land,
like air and water, is God-given, that every individual
within the community has a right to share in its bounties
provided he carries out his social and political obligations
to the community of which he forms a part; that in the
community as a whole is vested the ownership of the land,
and that consequently the individual member of the
community cannot permanently alienate the land he
occupies or uses. . . . Whether the smaller or the larger
social organization be regarded as the landowning unit,
the same common principle permeates the social structure
and lies at the root of all social philosophy. . . . Under this
system no member of an African community is ever in want.
If a member of an African family — using the word in its
African signification (community) — emigrates for a time,
his heritage in the land is waiting for him when he returns.
No man starves or can starve. There are no paupers in
Africa except where the white man has created them.”^

June 28. Today was such a perfect day, I feel I must set it
down in my diary before I go to bed. I might forget some
of it, and that would be a great waste.

Dr. Moroka took us to Basutoland for the day. His
young brother Gideon, Dr. Yergan, and Mr. Moshaloga
(a young Basuto teacher staying here) went with us in the
car.

1 From Black Man's Burden^ by E. D. Morel, published by B. W. Buebsh, Inc.,
New York, 1920.

58 AFRICAN JOURNEY

First we went to pay our respects to Doctor’s aunt, his
father’s sister. She is a marvellous old lady of eighty-eight,
over six feet tall with a most beautiful carriage. She carries
a long staff and moves slowly with great dignity. Her name
is Matsepinare Moroka. Her brother, R. Setlogelo, is
Doctor’s uncle, and was also a graduate from Edinburgh
in medicine. Her son is Chief Tsepinare, whose picture
hangs on the wall of her house. He has a fine strong
Mongolian face, was a great fighter and looks it, and was a
real leader of his people.

. Leaving Thaba N’Chu we drove out through the flat
countryside, which was originally part of Basutoland but
is now owned as farms by Boers. It is level fertile land,
famous for potatoes. The Boers said this land was too good
for the natives, and drove them back into the hills and
mountains of the present Basutoland.

In Basutoland nearly everyone we saw — men, women,
and children — ^were on horseback. They ride very well
indeed. The horse is their only means of transport. Nearly
everyone wears the typical Basuto blanket and big grass hat.

Soil erosion is everywhere. The rain comes down in
torrents, they tell me, and washes the soil from the slopes,
making them unfit for agriculture.

We passed the huge leper colony. Doctor tells me there are
about five thousand lepers there. They have their own
churches, schools, etc., and intermarry, but their children
are taken from them at birth. Leprosy is not considered a
heriditary disease. Doctor says leprosy is indigenous to
Africa, but syphilis and tuberculosis are not, and these
two diseases are the great tragedy of the people. They have
no immunity and no knowledge of hygiene, and no money
with which to carry out the knowledge if they get it.

On past a Native Roman Catholic settlement run by
Jesuits from Canada, with a big school and church. Church
was just letting out as we passed, so we stopped and I
photographed some of the children.

The car kept climbing into the heart of Basutoland, six

AFRICAN JOURNEY 59

thousand feet and higher into mountains as lovely as Switzer-
land but more lonely. We passed through Maseru on to
Matsieng, the Paramount Chief’s village. The Chief him-
self was ill, but we paid our respects to his son, a pleasant
young man about twenty-five or thirty years old. He was shy
but cordial, and seemed delighted and interested to see us.
He presented me with a lovely Basuto grass hat which
fits me perfectly. (I had forgotten the custom, and had
admired it.)

Matsieng was most interesting, and I took many pictures.
More than six thousand feet above sea level, it nestles under
the shelter of a still higher mountain. The huts are built of
local brick, with mud between to make them fast. There are
both square and round huts, beautifully built, and quite
different from the others I have seen.

Moshaloga took us inside the Chief’s First Wife’s en-
closure, which consisted of a large hut and a small one
within a high fence. Malt was spread on the ground to dry
in the sun. (It looked like very small peas.) There was a
beautiful sturdy grain-storing basket being woven. A rich
animal skin hung over the wall in the sun. The cooking
pots were over the fire on the ground, being tended by a
girl and two little children. They showed us the really fine
shoes they make here from cowhide; they look like skin
lined with fur. The old lady made us very welcome and
graciously allowed me to photograph everything, but she
would not be photographed herself.

We then went to a large open central kraal which serves
both as a court of justice and a cattle kraal.

Matsieng is Moshaloga’s home, and he was welcomed
everywhere as “Teacher.” He speaks English perfectly and
explained everything as we went along. He took us to his
home, to his “old people,” for lunch. Their cottage was very
plain but well built and immaculate. His parents were warm
and friendly, the lunch excellent. Also at lunch was a young
man, the agricultural demonstrator of the district, who was
teaching the women how to improve their crops and their

6o

AFRICAN JOURNEY

cattle. He was eager and interested, and took me off to a
meeting of the women at the hall, and I had to speak.
They were all keen, earnest, friendly; I enjoyed them very
much indeed.

As we took our leave, Pauli gave the Sesuto (Basuto
language) farewell and thank you, which he had taken
great pains to learn from Moshaloga. The people were
surprised and delighted to hear him speak even these few
words of their language. As we left Matsieng two jaunty
Basuto horsemen, in blankets and grass hats, rode along
beside us in farewell for quite some time.

We drove home through a magnificent sunset — golden
sky rapidly changing and darkening, with an unearthly
yellow glow behind the mountains after the sun had gone;
the lovely grey-blues of the clouds, then the sudden dark,
with the air fine and thin and very cold.

When we arrived we had an excellent supper in the
handsome Moroka dining room and afterwards moved to the
drawing room for gay, stimulating conversation before
an open fire. My friends made several things clear to me:

One can’t talk about Africa as a whole, because Africa
isn’t a whole. It is a kind of political meat loaf made of a
great many different ingredients.

There are North Africa (Mediterranean Africa), East,
West, Central, and South Africa — all ruled in quite different
ways by quite different European nations.

South Africa is in turn divided into Northern Rhodesia,
a protectorate under Great Britain; Southern Rhodesia,
a semi-dominion under Great Britain; Angola, on the west
coast, and Mozambique, on the east coast, both Portuguese
colonies; tiny Swaziland, slightly larger Basutoland, and
much larger Bechuanaland — all High Commission territories
under Great Britain; Southwest Africa (formerly a German
colony) , a mandate under the Union of South Africa ; and
finally, the self-governing Union of South Africa, a
dominion of Great Britain, and in turn made up of four

6i

AFRICAN JOURNEY

units: Cape Province, the Orange Free State, the Transvaal,
and Natal.

One thing that is true on the whole, though, is that Africa
is ruled by conquest, by the European white minority. In
the Union of South Africa the largest and most important
(politically) white elements are British and Dutch (Boer).
The Dutch attitude toward the African has been clearly
stated in a clause from the original constitution of the
Transvaal : ‘ ‘ There shall be no equality between black and
white either in church or state.” The British attitude was
expressed by Cecil Rhodes when he said: “Equal rights for
all civilized men south of the Zambesi (River).” Of course
the trick is to decide what civilized means.

In general the Union of South Africa can be said to be
committed to the Dutch rather than to the British attitude
toward the African. In other parts of South Africa under
British rule, the somewhat less harsh British attitude obtains.

All the provinces in the Union of South Africa are white
worlds, in spite of the fact that there are only 2,003,512
white people in a total population of 9,588,665. The High
Commission Territories of Basutoland, Bechuanaland, and
Swaziland are, on the other hand, black worlds.

The 560,000 Basutos live on 11,716 square miles of their
ancestral lands, which are “protected” by Britain. Their
traditional chiefs, although they have no actual legislative
powers, still have jurisdiction over them. All the land is in
Native occupation with the exception of small plots for
trading stations, mission stations, etc. The only Europeans
in Basutoland are the British Government officials, mis-
sionaries, and traders.

Basutoland presents the prettiest picture of the territories
largely because of the strong sense of nationality which has
been an important feature of Basuto history under, and
since, the rule of Moshesh — their brilliant, powerful, and
beloved chief— and because of the people’s firmly fixed
ideal of independence which they have persistently refused
to relinquish. Basutoland finally accepted political control

62

AFRICAN JOURNEY

by Britain as the price for protection, but retained the right
to regulate domestic affairs from within by their traditional
authorities, subject only to advice from without.

June 29. During the school vacation time Dr. Moroka keeps
open house. Now his home is filled with students who Jive
too far away to go home for the "holidays. There are three
young men at table, besides Moroka, his brother Gideon,
Yergan, and myself. Doctor’s wife is still visiting in Alice.
The children and women of the household eat elsewhere,
as is the custom.

All the young men are interesting. The Mukami (King)
Gaseitsiwe, fifteen-year-old chief of the Bechuana, for whom
the famous Tshekedi is regent, is at Fort Cox Agricultural
Training School and will finish in June; a fine young man,
intelligent, shy, charming. There is Seretse Khama, Para-
mount Chief (King) of the Bamangwato, grandson of the
great Khama. And Moshaloga, our young Basuto teacher.
All keen, adventurous-minded, delightful company. They
all want to hear about America, about England, about
universities abroad (kings do not leave their ancestral lands,
according to African custom), about Negroes everywhere,
and about Big Paul. They seem to like everything they have
heard about him, and they have heard a lot. They are
eagerly interested in Pauli. He is the future, they say.

They tell • me all about their own problems : They are
studying scientific agriculture, learning how to counteract
the discouraging soil erosion, how to irrigate desert areas
(a great part of Bechuanaland is in the Kalahari Desert),
how to protect cattle from the disease which ravage the
herds. They are learning how to improve the health of
their people, and how to protect themselves from at least
some of the exploitation.

Yergan tells me the African pays $5.50 to the trader
for a bag of mealies (corn) to eat^ while the European farmers
pay $1.25 to the same trader for a bag of the same mealies
for their cattle.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 63

The general conversation is about education, as is natural
among students. Many Africans are of necessity educated
abroad, at universities in the British Isles, America, France,
Germany, and Japan. It is enormously interesting to hear
their accounts of the widely varying treatment they receive
at the hands of the people in these different countries,
from government officials, university faculties, student
bodies, and the people-in-the-street. These accounts are
revealing, and would surely make the people in those proud
countries sit up and take notice!

The African student cannot understand, however hard
he tries, why the European continues to insist that his
(the African’s) mind is inferior. “We go to their universities,”
they say, ‘'*we master their most highly scientific and
philosophic subjects. We do thi^ through the medium of a
strange language, under trying conditions of strange
customs, climate, clothing, and food, to say nothing of
loneliness and social ostracism. On the other hand the
European comes out here to our country, and has the
utmost difficulty in learning our language and understand-
ing our laws and customs — though we understand theirs
quite easily. Of course we realize that they probably regard
our language, laws, and customs as inferior and unimportant,
and therefore need not bother to learn or understand them.
Yet this attitude in itself is remarkably unintelligent,
because the lack of knowledge and understanding makes
their task of governing and exploiting us all the more
difficult and complicated.”

I said: “The European merely says he is superior — says it
loudly, insistently, regularly. This does not make him so,
scientifically. He has never proved himself superior. He
has only proved himself stronger, with more force at his
command. If military strength is the sole criterion of
superiority, then definitely he is superior.” ,

It seems that Edinburgh is a favourite university for
African students from South Africa, especially for those
who study medicine. This is because of the happy

64 AFRICAN JOURNEY

history and experience of the Scottish missionaries out
here.

As early as 1812 they established a mission in South
Africa, and this mission was the forerunner of Lovedale,
the Scottish Presbyterian Missionary Institute, established
in 1 841 at Alice, which is now the centre for Native education.

I can understand the success of the Scots, having seen
and known some of them in Scotland. I find them soHd,
sound, simple, friendly, democratic people, with good honest
minds, a delightful sense of humour, and warm hearts.

June 30. One of Moroka’s white farm overseers came in this
morning — a big Boer ruffian. Doctor sent him to the
kitchen. This tickled Pauli and me. Doctor says the white
farmers used to make him sick, always talking about
“these Kaffirs” (in American “niggers”), and that finally
he told them angrily: “What is this Kaffir, Kaffir, Kaffir?
Baas (Boss) is Kaffir, Doctor is Baas,” and they stopped it.

Today we went again to Basutoland, this time to see the
white folks in Maseru, the biggish town which houses the
parliament buildings, schools, and churches. As we entered
Maseru we passed a police court in session, where cases
were being tried in the open. Th^ British district commis-
sioner was in charge, and was flanked by Basuto government
clerks and lawyers. The Basuto police and prisoners sat
facing the “bench.”

Our first stop was at the government-aided school. We
called on Mr. Bull the white official for the schools here.
The Bulls live in a lovely house, from the veranda of which
there is a magnificent view of the surrounding country.
Mr. Bull was cordial and charming, and showed me a very
fine collection of photographs of local interest. He tells me
that Basutoland has as its main resources wool, mohair,
and very fine wheat, but that wool is the most important.
Gideon Moroka tells me there is also coal and gold here.
He says that while the people are poor, they are virile and
prolific.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 65

We went on to the residency. It seems that Mr. Richards,
His Honour the Resident Commissioner, had heard of my
earlier visit to Matsieng, and wanted a chat with me.
We found him to be a tall shy quiet Englishman who had
served for years in Tanganyika and Kenya before coming
down here. His wife is young, very pretty, vivacious, chic,
and charming. Their only child, Joanna, is an extremely
friendly little girl of five ; she wore riding breeches under her
frock and lives on her pony. She was adorable with Pauli,
rushing to get all her toys for him, taking him by the hand
to show him all around. Mrs. Richards told me Joanna
had been stricken with appendicitis when she was three
and a half, and that they were terrified. She was operated on
most successfully here at Maseru, and is now well and strong
and happy.

The Residency is a magnificent bungalow — huge, ramb-
ling, beautifully built, with a glorious view of Lancers
Pass, the famous break in the mountain range so dear to
the heart of every Basuto. When I admired the house,
Mrs. Richards showed me through: a long wide cool
spacious room which opens on to the veranda, which in turn
gives on to courtyards and gardens, open at the far end,
looking right out over the panorama of snow-clad mountain
peaks and high level ground. The room itself is restful and
lovely, and furnished with quiet good taste. We saw the
guest suite, where the Prince of Wales stayed when he came
this way. It is a wing made into a sort of flat, so the guest,'
royal or otherwise, can be alone and luxuriously comfort-
able, yet right in the house.

Back in the drawing-room we had drinks, cigarettes,
and a friendly chat, just as we would have had in London.
Mr. Richards treated me exactly as he probably treats any
other visitor from abroad — with irreproachable courtesy
and hospitality. They asked Pauli and me to sign the
visitors’ book, which we did.

There are innumerable African servants about the resi-
dency, all very pukka in their white suits with red sashes,
Cj

66 AFRICAN JOURNEY

Indian fashion. (All the Europeans I have visited in South
Africa have magnificent houses, large staffs of servants,
and every evidence of luxury. It is ironic that the African
pays for this luxury.)

We made our farewells, rejoined Yergan and Moshaloga,
and took a walk about the town. We came upon a crowd of
Basutos waiting their turn outside the dispensary. They
pay an inclusive fee of twenty-five cents, for which they
receive attention and treatment, and surgery if necessary.

Through Moshaloga I asked permission of the crowd to
make photographs, which permission was readily and
cheerfully granted. In return I asked if I might give every-
body his or her hospital fee, and this was accepted with
surprised, delighted, grateful dignity. And then we went
home to Moroka’s.

The convention at Bloemfontein was impressive. Repre-
sentatives from all over South Africa attended. The delegates
were serious, able, aware. While they were reasonable,
they were determined to find some way to improve their
situation. The discussions were informative, and the sugges-
tions practical and constructive. I had long talks with Miss
Soga, whom I had met at Queenstown; she is a fine Xosa
type, and belongs to the Tembus, the royal clan of the
Xosa tribe. She is deeply interested and very active in social
work, and is doing a great deal to organize the women. I
met with the women’s section of the convention for two
hours on the last night. We discussed diet, child welfare,
and women’s organizations in other parts of the world. They
asked about the National Council of Women in America,
about women’s organizations in England, about Negro
women everywhere. I told them all I knew (privately
regretting bitterly that I did not know more) and promised
to collect data for them on these matters.

My only disappointment at Bloemfontein (it certainly
sounds ungrateful to even mention any disappointment in
this wonderful visit) was my inability to arrange my hoped-

AFRICAN JOURNEY 67

for meeting with Tshekedi in Bechuanaland. My African
friends, who have unequalled natural active hospitality,
did all they could to arrange it, but it just wasn’t in the
cards. So instead they told me again the story of Tshekedi,
and I found it tallied closely with the one I knew
already :

In 1933 there was an exciting account in the London
newspapers of what later came to be known as “The
Tshekedi Incident.” The British public was informed that
one Tshekedi, an African Regent in Bechuanaland, had
flogged a white man, a British subject, in public^ and there
was imminent danger of a Native uprising against the
whites. The famous “Evans of the Broke,” a popular
military hero, was sent post-haste into Serowe, the capital
of the Protectorate, to “restore and maintain order.” The
British public (and especially all the Coloured people in
Europe) waited breathlessly for news of the threatened
uprising. Nothing happened. The “Incident” eventually
petered out into obscurity, and the British public forgot
about it. But the Coloured people did not forget about it.
They wondered and, with them, the legend of Tshekedi
grew. I knew it as follows:

It seems a white man had been causing a lot of trouble in
Bechuanaland — breaking laws (European and Native),
selling liquor, interfering with women, and impairing the
morals of the Africans. Tshekedi had remonstrated with
him many times, to no avail. He appealed unofficially
and officially to the missionaries, local white government
representatives in his territory, and finally to the Colonial
Office in London — to punish this man and remove him from
the Protectorate. To no avail. Then Tshekedi sat himself
down and thought: What can I do to get rid of this white
man? I don’t want to kill him, I just want him to leave my
country. What can I do to make him go? I know. I’ll
whip him publicly, and that will be such a disgrace
that he will leave. So the Regent called together all
his tribe and had the white man flogged in the public
square.

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AFRICAN JOURNEY

Then all the white men in the territory, profoundly
shocked and frightened at this terrible impertinance, set
up a howl. How dare a Native, even a chief, flog a white
man? It simply can’t be done. (But it had been done.)
Why, he might flog us all. Then what would happen to our
white superiority? He might kill us all. He must be punished
(the presumptuous chief, not the culprit). So having
reasoned themselves into a fine state of fear and hysteria,
they called for military help and protection from the Union
of South Africa. The help came a-running, but found no
‘‘disturbance” whatsoever. The soldiers sat around a bit,
armed to the teeth, while an official investigation took place.

“Why didn’t you ask us to punish this man?” they asked
Tshekedi.

“The man elected to be tried by Native court, which is
his right, under your law and mine,” answered Tshekedi
quietly; “nevertheless, I asked the missionaries, the local
commissioner, and the Colonial Office to remove him, but
to no avail.”

Then the white folks asked the white “victim”: “Why
didn’t you ask us for help?”

“I preferred to take my chances with the Native court,”
he answered.

So what to do? Well, the white folks would have to
“make an example,” because after all a white man, however
guilty, had been flogged in public by a Native, and you
just can’t let that go.

So they tried Tshekedi in a special court, found him
guilty, and banished him from Bechuanaland temporarily.
Temporarily, that is to say until all the excitement had died
down. Then he was reinstated. And the Bechuanas are
still laughing.

Lest my readers think me, a Negro, too prejudiced in my
account of the “Incident,” I quote verbatim another
account of it recorded by a white reporter for a South
African newspaper:

“Tshekedi Khama, one of Bechuanaland ’s ablest native
chiefs, had ordered the flogging of a white man. had

AFRICAN JOURNEY 69

attacked a young native who had apparently attempted

to interfere with a native woman with whom was

living. . . . had been tried by native courts for seduc-

ing Bechuana women. He had had a child by one of them.
In all the cases against him, he had agreed to be tried by
the native court. In disputes between whites and blacks in
Bechuanaland, the white man may have his case heard
before a white magistrate if he so desires.

“Tshekedi had asked the Resident Commissioner several

times to have removed from the kraal because he

believed him to be a bad influence on the natives. But the
Commissioner had ignored the request. Tshekedi decided

that he would convince that he was persona non

grata. And stated later that he was quite satisfied with

the judgment passed against him.

‘‘A few hours after had received his punishment, the

district was alive with rumours of a big native uprising.
The Bechuanas were mobilizing, the rumours said, for a
showdown with the whites. . . . The white residents
appealed to the authorities to call immediately for military
aid, lest they all be murdered in their beds. Meanwhile,

Tshekedi, and the Bechuanas were asleep in theirs,

Tshekedi hoping that would be humiliated enough

to leave the kraal in the morning, hoping Tshekedi

would allow him to stay, and the Bechuanas sleeping soundly
after an exciting but rather tiring day.

“Meanwhile, Union Cabinet Ministers in Capetown
talked by phone with Bechuanaland, urging the Com-
missioner to order armed protection. ... A few hours later,
a detachment of Royal Marines, clad in full field kit with
steel helmets and several days’ food rations, and three
howitzer field guns manned by bluejackets, arrived in
Bechuanaland. They took up positions at strategic points,
waiting in expectation for a charge of black savages,
brandishing their spears and screaming bloodcurdling war
cries.

“Instead, they met a nation of harmless people with
whom they fraternized and permitted them to inspect their
rifles and howitzers. The troops remained in Bechuanaland
during Tshekedi’s trial, at which he was charged with

70 AFRICAN JOURNEY

exceeding his powers.- He was suspended and banished. . . .
Tshekedi was thus punished not for flogging a white man
wrongfully — a man who had upset tribal life in the kraal —
but because he had flogged a white man. Such a precedent
could not go unpunished. Other Chiefs with other white
men living in their kraals might get ideas. It was, the
authorities believed, worth all the trouble of a military
display, even if it did cost the taxpayers in England ;^4,ooo.

‘^As it happened, the British man-in-the-street didn’t
agree with the authorities. They thought there had been
too much fuss over one white man who had obviously
deserved what he got. Tshekedi was subsequently reinstated
after a campaign on his behalf in Britain’s liberal news-
papers, and representations made to the Dominions Office
in London. Thus, the Tncident’ flopped.”^

I learned a great deal more about Tshekedi: He is an
intelligent, determined young man just under thirty, with
a forceful personality, jolly, and extremely popular with his
people. He was educated at Lovedale and Fort Hare,
lives well, and is a gentleman. His wife was also educated
at Lovedale. Serowe, his capitol, is an African town of some
forty thousand people, in the Kalahari Desert area in
Bechuanaland. The people live by agriculture and cattle-
raising. It is said the Europeans wanted to mine in his
territory, but he refused to permit them to do so.

The legal case which Dr. Schapera had mentioned was
very interesting indeed: A proclamation from the High
Commissioner in 1934 defined more specifically the legal
status of chiefs in the High Commission territories, setting
forth the procedure to be followed in their appointment
and dismissal, and providing that a chief may only be
deposed by the tribe itself with the government’s consent,
but

. . . The Bechuanaland system differs from the form
adopted in most areas under indirect rule in providing
that the members of a chief’s council must be explicitly

^ From South of the Congo.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 71

nominatedj^ and can be removed by the administration. . . .
The innovations were accepted by some of the chiefs, but
Tshekedi Khama, the regent chief of the Ngwato, and
Bathoen, the Ngwaketsi chief, not only stated their inability
to comply with the terms of the proclamations, but con-
tested their validity in a suit brought in the Special Court. . . .
It was claimed that they violated rights reserved to the chiefs
by treaty, and were void on the ground of uncertainty and
unreasonableness. The decision of the Court was based
on the legal ground that the jurisdiction of the Crown was
unfettered and unlimited, and that the other issues raised
did not therefore come into consideration. It is, however,
clear that behind the suit lay an issue with which the court
itself was unable to deal. The two chiefs have consistently
urged that the system of indirect rule conflicts in practice
with its proclaimed aims; based on the ^recognition’ of a
chief which involves the definition of his powers, it con-
stitutes an invasion of his inherent and traditional position
as the embodiment of the tribe. The most suitable relation-
ship in African conditions in their view is that of ‘ parallel ’
rule; they admit that the final authority must rest with the
controlling power, but claim that internal administration
should be carried on by the chief”'

Any fair-minded person who thinks over this brilliant
and courageous stand taken by Tshekedi and his fellow chief
in Bechuanaland will appreciate why he is a legend among
Negroes who know about him.

July 2. Dr. Moroka and Dr. Yergan handed Pauli and me
over to our new friend Dr. Xuma, for the trip to Johannes-
burg.

Just before we left Bloemfontein we had a satisfying
telephone conversation with Paul, in London, via Capetown.
The overseas operator got him within fifteen minutes. I
asked him to go to Cooks’ in London and buy the plane seats
for our return trip from Central Africa. Everyone here says

^ From An African Surv^t by Lord Hailey, published by the Oxford Univer -
sity Press, London, Toronto, 1939.

72 AFRICAN JOURNEY

it Will be impossible for me, being coloured, to buy them
on this end. Paul said he would secure definite specific
reservations, pay for them on his end, then forward the
tickets to me care of Cooks' in Johannesburg, where I could
pick them up. His voice sounded very near and dear. Pauli
gave him a fat kiss over the wires.

This travelling about Africa reminds me of travelling
through the Deep South in America: You are passed from
friend to friend, from car to car, from home to home, often
covering thousands of miles without enduring the in-
conveniences and humiliations of the incredibly bad Jim
Grow train accommodations and lack of hotel facilities
for Negroes.

Dr. Xuma has a gorgeous new 1935 Buick, complete
with balloon tyres, shock absorbers, special springs, etc.
Dr. Yergan said ruefully: ‘‘This is much more suitable for
you and Pauli than my modest and aged Dodge." We were
indignant. That Dodge had been our friend and companion
and home and steed for more than two thousand miles.
Its sturdy comfort had been dependable. We had had no
hint of mechanical or tyre trouble in all that long trip.
We would hear no word against it.

Everyone cautioned us against Kroonstad, a very
“cracker" Boer town en route to Johannesburg. Africans
hate and fear this town. Dr. Yergan said he would send
me a wire care of the post office there, giving me whatever
news there was about a possible trip to Swaziland. I was
to collect the wire and we were to go right on through the
town to the location beyond.

^And so, having said good-bye to our wonderful host.
Dr. Moroka, and to our guardian angel,. Dr. Yergan, we
settled ourselves luxuriously in the new Buick with Dr.
Xuma and a young relief driver, and left Bloemfontein
this morning.

I shall always remember the dust of South Africa — mists
of it, fogs of it, clouds of it — floods of thick red-brown and

AFRICAN JOURNEY

73

clay-coloured dust swirling everywhere the moment you
move your foot or your car. On the road you must either
pass a car at once or stay well behind it, because of the cur-
tain of dust. Unless you have a very fast car, it is safer to
stay far behind if you are African, because the South
African, especially the Boer, often resents being passed by an
African.

We are now fairly familiar with South African roads.
There are the typical ox-wagons, the usual means of trans-
port: heavy, clumsy, lumbering wagons drawn by five
yoke (pair) of oxen, often six or seven yoke. The oxen
always have to be led, and African men and boys do this —
one in front, guiding, often one at either side, and one at the
back. These Africans walk most of the many miles of the
trek, guiding the beasts. The roads are often obstructed
by these wagons and by herds of cattle, which are always
tended by African herdboys.

There are a great many gates in the roads all over South
Africa. At night you must get down to open and close these
gates yourself, but during the day they are opened and
closed by the herdboys who are tending the cattle near by.
It is customary to throw a penny, and they cup their hands
to receive it with a charming smile and a dignified “Danke,
Baas.” We came into a large town, whose last gate was near
the outskirts. Some little poor white boys had ganged the
herdboys and driven them away, and were opening and
closing the gate for the cars. They opened it for us, then
ran along beside the car, wild looking, with staring greedy
eyes. When Pauli threw the inevitable copper they shrieked:
“Penny, penny, penny!” and grovelled in the dust for it.
No thanks of any kind. An unpleasant sight. Where is the
white prestige?

As a driver myself, the road courtesy always interests me.
If a car is parked on the road, every passing car stops to be
of help. They carry people on to the next town, share petrol,
tow cars. This is universal — white and black. It almost
amounts to an unwritten law.

Gi

74

AFRICAN JOURNEY

Mealies (corn) grow on each side of the road — mile
after mile of scrubby sun-baked wispy mealies. Dry sun-
baked grass. Very few trees and those planted specially.
All the trees were cut down by the early settlers and not
replaced, hence the great soil erosion everywhere, and
the lack of rainfall.

Hills, kopjes^ table mountains, pyramid peaks — desolate
and barren. The sun streaming down. Glare, glare, glare.
Then the night winds, very cold, howling and roaring,
making frightening noises. The bitter, biting cold of the thin
air, once the sun has gone.

The gorgeous incredible sunsets, so spectacular that I
always think of a cyclorama at the back of a theatre:
brilliant gay scarlet, flame, liquid » gold skies turning to dull
gold, then fading to pastel pinks and blues, blues and greys,
then luminous blue-grey, then the swift darkness. No twilight.
Just that clarity of light, silhouette, and the sudden night.

The night skies are lovely too : clear vault of blue imme-
diately overhead — not distant as in Europe or at home.
Enormous glittering stars and the fleecy clouds, all very,
very near.

We saw a mine train, this time coming up from Johannes-
burg with its tragic burden of Africans who have seiYcd
their term in the mines. Some broken in health, some
coughing, some with the beginnings of the dreaded phthisis.
All exhausted, “worked Out.” Many hanging out of the
train windows drinking in the sun and air. All with the
pathetic little cash which will be eaten up by taxes and fees.

We pass the now familiar corrugated tents of the railway
workers, beside the rare railroad tracks.

And the European farms, widely spaced in their miles
of valleys. And always the heartbreaking sight of African
families on the road, on foot, trying somehow to escape
from the slavery of these farms. The father often leads the
small child by the hand, in front, followed by other children
and the mother, who has all their worldly possessions on
her head: perhaps a crude stove, blanket, a few clothes, a

AFRICAN JOURNEY 75

little food. They are friendly, kindly, patient, stubbornly
moving on, hoping to find the next place more reasonable,
more human. But of course the next place is just as bad.

The terrible labour conditions of Natives on European
farms have been made legal. The Native Service Contract
Act of 1932 has been called a “charter of slavery” and is
exactly that:

“This Act requires that a native resident on a private
farm — that is, in effect, all labour tenants — to obtain a
document of identification before proceeding to any other
place than his home; no one may employ a native unless
his document of identification bears an endorsement by the
owner of the farm on which he is resident authorizing him
to seek fresh employment. . . . (The Act) permits the
corporal punishment of male servants up to 18 years of age
for any contravention of the Masters and Servants Acts. . . .
The contract entered into by a native is binding on his
children up to the age of i8 years without their consent
and the penal sanctions accordingly become applicable to
the whole family. It may also be remarked that the native
employee is less likely to have recourse to the courts than
his master, and it is pointed out that the Act makes it
impossible for natives to organize to protect themselves
against exploitation.”^

Every adult Native who lives as a squatter or labour-
tenant on a European-owned farm (and more than two
million of them must do so because Europeans have left
insufficient land to the Native for living space) is liable by
law to render six months’ unpaid service to his landlord
every year, and the six months can be made up of every
other day if the landlord chooses. The Act legalizes verbal
contracts between landlord and tenant, yet the Native must
have written release from his landlord on his Pass before he
dares leave. The Act further legalizes contracts making
Native boys and girls from ten to eighteen years of age
liable to any kind of work in any part of the Union.

Pretty comprehensive, this Act ! !

1 From An African Survey y pp. 661, 663, 667^

76

AFRICAN JOURNEY

These families on the roads, I wonder what they were
thinking, what they will do? Fifty years 'ago these Africans
lived on this very land, tilling the soil, tending their cattle,
mining their metals, living a good life. Europeans took over
their lands by conquest and by legal trickery, and made
them slaves. For instance there was Lobengula, only sixty
years ago the powerful and respected King of the Matabele,
who made his first important and fatal mistake in 1 888 when
he granted, under pressure, what was afterwards referred
to as the Rudd Concession. This concession gave to the
agents of Cecil Rhodes sole control of all the minerals in his
kingdom. The result of that mistake was that Matabeleland
became Southern Rhodesia, and Lobengula’s descendants,
thirty-five years later, were reduced to petitioning King
George of England for these reasons :

“The members of the late King’s (Lobengula’s) family,
your petitioners, and several members of the tribe are now
scattered about on farms so parcelled out to white settlers,
and are practically created a nomadic people, under a
veiled form of slavery, they being not allowed individually
to cross from one farm to another, or from place to place
except under a system of permit or pass, and are practically
forced to do labour on these private farms as a condition
of their occupying land in Matabeleland,”^

This petition is typical of the African attitude toward the
European. In talking with Africans, one gets the feeling
that they have confidence in the decency and dignity of
human beings in general — white, yellow, and black. In
spite of the shameful treatment they have received and
are now receiving at the hands of the white man, they
believe that what they must do is bring the facts of this
treatment to the attention of other white men who, because
they are human and decent and fair, will correct these
injustices.

Thus Lobengula’s family appealed to King George. Thus

^ From Black MarCs Burden.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 77

Getshwayo, King of the Zulus, when his kingdom was
destroyed, journeyed to England and appealed directly to
Queen Victoria. Thus kings and chiefs all over Africa have
tried to appeal directly to the people of the home country
of the invaders, the settlers, the colonists: to the people
of England, France, Germany, Belgium, and Portugal.

I imagine the African’s thinking runs something like this :
Most of these white men who come out here to Africa are
not the best men of their country, are not even the good
men. If they were they would probably have stayed at
home. Marly of them are here because they were not
respected, were unsuccessful, misfits, greedy, bad.

The same kind of thing happens in African society: A
good man, respected and successful, usually remains at
home to enjoy respect and success. The misfits and the bad
men roam.

The African appeals to the local settlers for justice, and
gets none. He then appeals to the local governments (which
are, with few exceptions, white governments for the settlers)
and not only does not get justice, but gets instead terrifyingly
repressive laws made against him.

Still with faith in humanity, the African reasons: These
are bad men, greedy, ruthless men. I will appeal to the men
in the land whence they came — to the good men, respected
and successful, who remained at home. They will see the
injustice of my situation, and will remedy it. So he appeals
to King George, to Parliaments, to Colonial Offices — to
what he thinks and hopes are the “good people.”

The colonist knows there are many good people in his
home country in Europe who would most certainly not
approve of his behaviour if they were aware of it. He has
therefore steadily built up almost insuperable barriers
between the African and the people of Europe. So that only
very vague information is received abroad about the African
— unless there is some calamitous event which cannot be
entirely hidden, ignored, buried in voluminous and weighty
Colonial Reports, or suavely explained away.

78 AFklGAN JOUkNkY

An example of such a calamitous event occurred in the
early i goo's:

“The Congo Free State — known since August, .1908, as
the Belgian Congo, is roughly i million square miles in
extent. . . . Estimates of the population varied from
40 to 30 to 20 million. No estimates of the population fell
below 20 million. In 1911 an official census was taken. It
revealed that only 8| million people were left. The Congo
system lasted for the best part of 20 years . . . and a careful
study suggests that a figure of 10 million victims would be a
very conservative estimate.”^

One must assume that the people of Belgium did not know
how their own King and colonists were exploiting the African
in the Congo, and would have seriously protested had they
known. Therefore King Leopold and his colonial officials
dared not publish the census figures in Belgium, the home
country. When men in other countries read the figures
and understood their significance, they raised a world scandal
which forced King Leopold to hand over the Belgian Free
State from his private personal ownership to the Belgian
Government.

Who can say the African is naive? Who can say, if the
African is able to put his case clearly and directly before
the people of Europe, in Europe, that normal, decent,
reasonable human beings will not be revolted by the shame-
ful injustice of his treatment? What simple honest man in
England, France, America, or elsewhere wants to be
thought a tyrant, a brute, a greedy ruthless destructive
beast by 150 million people — black or any other colour?

And what more propitious time than now, when peoples
all over the world are facing and fighting down slavery,
securing forever — they hope — ^freedom for all men. Africans
are men. That fight, that hope will be in vain if that freedom
is not granted to all men!

^ From Black Man's Burden.

AFRICAN JOURNEY

79

Our handsome Buick rolled along beautifully until we
came into Kroonstad, and there, right in the middle of the
main street, one of the elegant balloon tyres blew out.
While Dr. Xuma and the young driver changed the tyre,
Pauli and I strolled through the town in search of the post
office and Yergan’s wire. It was blazing hot. We were stared
at all the way by the porky, pie-faced Boers with their
small eyes set close together in mean faces. The sight of the
undernourished little African nurse girls carrying those over-
stuffed Boer children on their backs sickened me.

Arriving at the post office, we found separate windows for
Europeans and Non-Europeans, but the Poste-Restante was
general. The ratty-faced clerk asked rudely what I wanted,
staring meanwhile at Pauli. Sensing his attitude, I asked
respectfully for a telegram for Robeson.

“No telegram for you,” he answered immediately,
without looking in the lettered boxes behind him.

I could see the yellow envelope in the box under R.

I thought, If Yergan says he’ll send a wire, he’ll send
it.

I said, still respectfully, “But I’m expecting a telegram.
If it hasn’t come yet, I’ll just sit and wait for it.”

Taking Pauli by the hand, I went over to a bench and
sat down, prepared to wait forever. The clerk glared at us,
his mouth hanging open, his face slowly reddening. He flung
himself over to the boxes, pulled out the yellow envelope,
looked at it first on one side then on the other (I really
don’t think he could read), and thrust it through the
window.

“Here, is this it? ” he asked.

I went tJack to the Window, read my name on the envelope,
and said: “Yes, it is, thank you very much,” and smiled
at him. Again he glared at us, and his neck seemed to swell
as the scarlet of his face slowly turned to purple. Still with
Pauli’s hand in mine, we left the post office.

We know this same kind of thing in our own Deep South.
If Pauli and I had been ragged and black, and had said a

8o

AFRICAN JOURNEY

lot of “Yes, Sirs” and “No, Sirs” and “Thank you. Sirs,”
the clerk would have been condescending and pleasant
and helpful, if he had felt in the mood. But we were well
dressed and confident, respectful only of his government
position — not of his white skin — and that made him furiously
uncertain socially, and very angry. And worse, I could read.
We didn’t “know our place,” which to the “cracker” is
the unforgivable sin. Our place, of course, is at the very
bottom, and very, very definitely under him!

Back at the place where we had left the car, we found
no car. For a bad moment I was worried. This is no place
to get lost in, I thought. But the sensible thing to do is to
wait right here, and they will come back. Sure enough,
in a few minutes Dr. Xuma drove up. When I saw the
enormous relief in his face I felt guilty and repentant for the
worry I had caused him. It seems the tyre was changed
quickly and easily, and they drove to the post office to
pick us up. Not finding us, they inquired of the clerk,
who had just glared at them. Really worried, they decided
to come back to the rendezvous before searching the town
for us.

We drove on through the hated Kroonstad to the location
outside the town, where we had dinner with a young African
teacher and her mother in their neat little home. They were
cordial, interesting, and eager for news of the convention
and of the outside world. After a pleasant restful visit we
continued on to Johannesburg.

It was nearly midnight when we arrived, and after three
hundred miles of desolate veldt, the panorama of lights
was beautiful. We drove through the brilliantly lighted
suburbs, through the central part of the city wifll its wide
clean streets, huge luxury cinemas, tall office buildipgs,
and modern luxury flats with their individual balconies; on
out of the city on the other side to the duller outskirts, past
mountainous mine dumps to the Sofiatown Location which
was our destination. And finally we went to bed, all of us
very tired.

8i

AFRICAN JOURNEY

July 3. Dr. Xuma’s house in Sofiatown is pleasant and
comfortable. He is a young widower with two small children.

Today we saw Johannesburg again and found it more
attractive, modern, clean, and spacious by daylight.

Called at Cooks’ for our mail and bought tickets for the
trip by train from Johannesburg down to Lourengo Marques,
the Portuguese port on the southeast coast. Also bought
the ship reservations for the trip up the east coast to Mom-
basa. And, to my vast relief, picked up the plane tickets
and reservations which Paul had sent on from Cooks’
in London. Bless him. Cooks’ was very helpful in checking
visas and giving us useful travel information.

Saw the mine dumps by daylight. They are everywhere
on the outskirts of the city, beyond the beautiful European
residential suburbs: Great, depressing mountains of slag~
whitish looking ashy dirt and clinkers washed clean of
all gold dust, and just piled up and left.

In the early evening going home we saw the dreaded
pick-up vans everywhere in the streets, in the outskirts of
town, and on the roads leading to the locations. The van
is a cross between a dog-catcher’s wagon and a police patrol
wagon. Africans call it, simply, “Pick-Up.” If they cannot
show a pass or permit to be out on the streets, they are
seized, loaded into these vans, and taken to jail. No European
can be arrested without a warrant, but none is necessary
to arrest an African. The accusation is decided upon after
the arrest. They tell me it is easier to plead guilty when
picked up, pay the fine, and thus avoid the return trip to
court for a hearing and perhaps a much larger fine and a
prison sentence.

According to the report of the Native Economic Com
mission for the Union of South Africa, the figures (for the
Transvaal only) for the year 1930 show “ . . . that of
32,000 convictions for Pass Law offences, 16,000 were
obtained in the Witwatersrand Police Division [this section
where we saw the vans] and 23,000 in the rest of the

82

AFRICAN JOURNEY

Transvaal. The figures for previous years tell the same
tale. . . . The Commission listened to many complaints
on the subject of the Pass Laws by Natives in the Transvaal,
Natal, and Orange. Free State. In the Gape Province no
Pass Law system is in fotce, except in the Transkei [where
850,000 Natives live] and in the districts generally known
as British Bechuanaland, where permits for entrance and
exit are required.”^

I can certainly follow their thinking when Africans tell
me it is easier to plead guilty than to return to court for a
hearing. I would hate to find myself as a Native in a court
anywhere in South Africa. The African has no important
legal rights. In many parts of the Union, African births
and deaths are not recorded. Deaths of African workers
in the mines are not published. This is the way the Native
fares in court:

^‘A few years ago a case was brought before the South
African Supreme Court concerning a white man and a
native woman charged with ‘illicit intercourse.’ The white
man’s lawyer secured an acquittal for him on the grounds
of insufficient evidence. But [on the same evidence] tfie Bantti
woman^ who had no lawyer, was found guilty and sentenced to twelve
months' imprisonment, , . .

“There is no death penalty for the murder of a native
by a white man. In 1935, an Afrikaans farmer in the Orange
Free State killed one of his Bantu servants. He was fined
f20 {£100 ) — suspended for two years. It appeared that the
native, aged 55, had been disobedieilt.”^

July 4. Sunday. In the early afternoon we drove through
Friedasdoorp, said to be the roughest section around
Johannesburg. It reminded me very much of Lenox Avenue
in Harlem on a summer Sunday afternoon. The streets
were thronged with Africans, all colours, all si2;es, dressed
in all kinds of clothes, strolling in the sun. Indians, Malays,
Coloured, and Africans live in this section. There is a sports

1 From Report of Native Economic Commission, p. 105.

* From South (f the Congo,

AFRICAN JOURNEY 83

ground — ^for Indians and Coloured only — where a football
game was in progress.

Farther along we came to another sports ground — ^this
one for Africans — and decided to go in to watch this football
game. An African street vendor was selljng hot roast sweet
potatoes just outside the gate and doing brisk business.
Inside the place was jammed. Both teams were African,
arid they played very well indeed. The audience was good-
natured, vocal, and enthusiastic. Pauli especially enjoyed
it all.

After watching the game for a while, we went along to
the mine compound, which was nearly adjoining the sports
ground. We watched the Zulu miners dancing, and took
pictures. The dancing was interesting and the costumes
colourful.

Then we went on to one of the nearby mines. It being
Sunday, the white superintendent was away, and the
Induna or Native superintendent showed us around.
There are 5,400 Natives working in the mine, and more
than 2,000 additional Natives working in the next mine
about a thousand yards away: Swazis, Pondos, Basutos,
and many Portuguese East Africans. Pauli and I were soon
able to distinguish the Swazis, who wear their hair long,
dressed with red-brown clay and brushed right back from
their dark faces, giving them a curious red-haired look.
And the Pondos, with their hair in regular “corn-rows,”
sometimes “wrapped” — a style which Negroes in our own
Deep South would recognize immediately. Of course we
could tell the Basutos by their typical colourful blankets.

The mine kitchens were a revelation: soup, porridge
(cooked thick and shovelled out in great solid slabs on to
the plates), samp; the meat was “cow shanks,” which we
found in examination to be cow feet. On workdays the men
are usually given raw meat, which they cook themselves
over fires built on the ground outside their rooms.

The compound is the living quarters for the Native
miners only. The white workers live in their homes outside

84 AFRICAN JOURNEY

the compound, in the suburbs, or in the city. The compound
is a barren dusty square surrounded by brick barracks,
“rooms,” and the whole enclosed by a high strong fence;
very like a prison. The barracks, or rooms, are high one-
story buildings, wjth a door but no windows. The light
and air come through ventilators placed high in the walls,
just under the metal roofs.

Pauli and I went inside one of the rooms and saw the
double row of stone bunks ranged round the walls — eighteen
bunks in the first tier, eighteen bunks in the second tier.
The Induna explained that the bunks were made of porous
concrete; some of them have boards laid across them.
Each man has a bunk on which he sleeps and on which
he keeps his few personal possessions. Formerly fifty miners
were housed in each of these rooms but there was so much
illness and ensuing loss of labour time that the mine officials
reduced the number to the present thirty-six per room.

The Native miner gets board (a minimum medically
approveld ration scale) and lodging, medical attention, and
hospitalization free. If he meets with an accident and is
disabled or killed, he is paid compensation under the Native
Labour Regulation Act as follows: For permanent partial
disablement, from £i ($5.00) to £20 ($100.00); for
permanent total disablement or death, from ^^30 ( $150.00)
to ;(^50 ( $250.00) ; there is no provision for temporary
disablement, which frequently lasts for a long time and
necessitates repatriation.

But very often the bereaved family back in the reserve is
unable to collect even this modest compensation because
they may not hear of the death until long afterwards. The
mines do not publish the names of the approximately three
thousand Natives who die every year from accident or
disease.

Much of the illness of the miners consists of chest ailments,
bronchitis, and pneumonia. It seems they go down into the
mines, before sun-up. The shift is from five a.m. to two p.m.
The Natives must be down at five a.m. so as to be ready

AFRICAN JOURNEY 85

when the European ^pervisors come down at six. When
they go down it is very cold (Johannesburg is 6,000 feet
above sea level), and as they go lower and lower it gets
hotter and hotter. They often do the hardest kind of physical
labour in temperatures of 60 to 70 degrees and higher.
When they come up at 2 p.m., exhausted and streaming
with perspiration — their pores wide open and relaxed —
they are too tired to take proper care of themselves. This
is when they take cold.

The mines do not provide clothes. But recently, because of
increasing loss of labour time from pneumonia, the mine
officials considered providing warm coats for the men to
wear to and from the shafts. So far there are no coats.
The miners tell me rather bitterly that the mines declared
a balance of ^10,000,000 last year. Balance^ after all expenses
and operation costs had been paid. But there are still no
coats.

The gold mines are the foundation for the prosperity of
South Africa. It is estimated that between 250,000 and
450,000 Natives are employed in the mines.

For centuries the African had mined gold and other metals
for himself. Since the white conquest and occupation of
South Africa, the African has not been able to mine for
himself. There is no law against it — he is simply not granted
a licence to mine. But he is recruited and otherwise forced
by taxes and other pressure to work the mines for the white
man.

Many of the Europeans who are employed underground
are so employed for reasons of prestige. Their work can be,
in many cases, and very often is, unofficially done by
Natives, at one-eighth of the Europeans’ wage. The Native
miner is paid an everage wage of 781. 6</. ( $19.70) per
month. This figure. includes room, board, medical attention,
etc.; the actual wage is about 57^. 6rf. ( $14.50) per month.
The European is paid an average wage of ^(^31 75. od,
($156.75) per month, for much easier work.

This figure of 57J. ( $14.50) per month for the Native

miner was fixed in 1897, and from then until now there
has not been even a nominal increase. In fixing the figure

86

AFRICAN JOURNEY

in 1897, the Mines Association reduced the then wages by
one-third and simultaneously transferred the cost of travel to
and from the mines from the employers to the employees.

These wages make Native mine labour slave labour.
“It is the distinction of the mines to have rendered slavery
unnecessary by retaining its substance while dispensing
with its form.”i

The miners recruited in Portuguese East Africa receive
eyen lower wages than those fixed above, and the South
African Native Races Committee explains why:

“For every Native imported from the Portuguese terri-
tories of Mozambique a sum of 13^. ( $3.25) is payable to the
Portuguese Government, and a further sum of lOi- ($2.50)
has to be paid to the Government by the Native on his return
for each year of his service. The Association (Mine Owners)
has found the Province of Mozambique by far the most pro-
ductive and satisfactory of its recruiting grounds. The Natives
from these territories are engaged on a 12 months’ contract
(longer than the others) at a wage of is, 6 d, ( $00.37)
day (less than the others).

With the reward of 23J. ( $5.75) for each Native sent
to the mines, no wonder the Portuguese officials are energetic
in “facilitating” the recruiting in their territory.

The Native miner has not accepted this slavery lying
down. On the contrary, he has fought every step of the way.
In order to keep him at this low level, the South African
Government has had to impose taxes, has had to pass law
after law to prevent him from organizing, to prevent him
from holding meetings, to silence his protests. Things have
come to such a pass in some parts of Africa that it is now a
criminal offence (not civil) for a Native to break his work
contract (a civil contract). Industrial organizatipn for the
Native is illegal. The Colour Bar Bill prevents the Native,
however well trained and efficient, from working (officially)
in all skilled and many unskilled trades. If a Native says the
white man does not pay good wages, he may be, in some
areas, put in prison for sedition. But the ingenious and per-

^ From The Duty of EmpirCy p. 252,

* From The South African Natives,

AFRICAN JOURNEY 87

sis tent Native miner, finding his voice stilled elsewhere,
began to chant his grievances to the visitors who watched
his dances in the mining compounds, hoping that some
sympathetic cars would lend attention, and help him. The
mine officials, startled by such audacity, promptly suppressed
the dances.

We got back to Dr. Xuma’s with just time to eat and
change for the party which the Bantu Men’s Social Club
was giving in our honour in the evening. The Africans
making up the membership of this club are quite European.
There was entertainment, and the two items on the pro-
gramme which interested me most were a recitation of an
alliterative story made up almost entirely of clicks — very
humorous and fascinating — and a song about the Johannes-
burg mountains, a real African ballad which was beautiful
in itself and beautifully sung. I think it might be fine for
Paul, and they have promised to send him a copy. I made
the inevitable speech, and at the end of the evening the
members of the club presented me with a collection of
African records. They could not have given me anything
more welcome or of more practical value.

July 6. No dice for Swaziland. We have been unable to
arrange the visit. I am glad to have been able to see at least
one of the protectorates — Basutoland. So I won’t be greedy.

July 7. We left Johannesburg last night at nine-fifteen,
and arrived in Louren^o Marques a little after one o’clock
today. Had a nice compartment on the train. We worked
our way down from the 6,ooo-foot level of the mining city
to the seacoast level of the port. The country was uninterest-
ing: mountains, hills, desolate green-brown scrub, some
trees, a few huts here and there, an occasional Native
village, a few cattle, a few Natives on the roads. The Portu-
guese we saw from the train windows were a mangy-
looking lot — small, sun-baked, enervated.

88

AFRICAN JOURNEY

At Louren90 Marques we ‘'saw the town,” bought post-
cards, went to Cooks’ and exchanged our vouchers for the
regular steamship tickets, did some shopping, and at four-
thirty this afternoon boarded the s.s. Kenya of the British
India Line. We have a nice double outside cabin with
private bath, and are very comfortable indeed.

July 10. Friday. We are halfway through the Mozambique
Channel, proceeding north along the east coast. Madagascar
is on our right, but out of sight.

Our ship called at Beira yesterday. We went ashore with
other passengers to have a look around, and bought post-
cards and little souvenirs. Beira is a wretched little place. It
was early afternoon when we went ashore, and no one but
ourselves was stirring. People sat or lay in siesta by the side
of the road, under trees, on porches. The air was heavy,
sweltering, and very enervating. The huruidity was terrific.

After our short stroll up to the little general store, we were
all so exhausted we found it hard to make our way back to
the ship. It was then I understood why everyone was having
siesta. I also understood fully for the first time that delightful
song of Noel Coward’s, “Mad Dogs and Englishmen Go,
out in the Midday Sun.”

The ship’s doctor told us that in the old days Beira was all
swamps and mosquitoes and malaria, but lately the swamps
have been drained and the conditions are better. He says
the damp and terrible heat is so oppressive that Portuguese
ofhcials have to return to Europe regularly after a maximum
term of eight months. Most Europeans are unable to
stand the humidity for a longer period. I can well believe
it.

July II. We are nearly through the channel. The ship is
Very slow but comfortable. We have just missed the tail
end of a northeast monsoon.

The coast is interesting but desolate : white sandy shores,
cliffs, green hills. Jt is getting hotter and hotter. And this is

AFRICAN JOURNEY 89

winter here (July) with this exhausting heat. I hate to think
of what the summer must be like, especially in Beira.

July 12. We have finally passed Madagascar and come out
of the channel into the Indian Ocean. Our ship calls at
Dar-Es-Salaam, the port of Tanganyika Territory, to-
morrow. The passengers tell me one can buy beautiful
eastern silks very reasonably in the Indian shops there,
and they make things to order for you overnight, delivering
them to you next day in Zanzibar when the ship calls
there. We shall see.

The passengers have become very friendly with us. Pauli
plays all day long with the children. There have been one
or two little incidents. Two of the South African children
simply could not understand why Pauli must have ‘‘his
turn” in all the games. Though they come to fetch him,
and seem anxious for him to play, they often try to “skip”
his turn. I keep a weather eye on them, but so far haven’t
interfered, because Pauli seems well able to handle himself.
Yesterday he put his foot down and said: “If you don’t
want me to play, say so. But if I play I always get my turn,
understand?” They flushed with surprise; they had not
thought that his turn could be important. Then they pulled
him back into the game. They don’t skip him any more.
They seem to like him very much, but just don’t understand
him at all. To them he is “Native,” yet they can’t push him
around. They might even understand if he were a prince
or something. But he is just a plain American Coloured boy
who isn’t going to be pushed around.

Since these Europeans have made such a cult of games
and sports. I’m glad he’s very good at them. It helps.

Have had pleasant and interesting talks with one of the
passengers, a Miss P., a charming Viennese who has
travelled all over America and studied economics there.
She is now a professor of economics at Johannesburg Univer-
sity. Have also enjoyed a delightful Mrs. D., a teacher
who was born in South Africa. She is a fine type of pioneer

go AFRICAN JOURNEY

Stock, honest, sympathetic, understanding, generous minded.
We have talked for days about the Native question. I am
so glad to have met her.

I had gone sour on the subject of South Africans. There
must be more like Mrs. D. — not many, because she is an
especially fine human being — but there must be some.
Pauli adores her. It is wonderful that she is a teacher,
because she has a way with children. It is impossible for
them to come into contact with her and not have their minds
opened up, at least to some extent. She is that kind of
person. She has written Pauli an African story, for himself
alone, making him the subject of the story, which is laid in
purely Native surroundings. It is extremely well done,
and he has put it with his treasured possessions.

The passengers have been asking me how I liked Johannes-
burg. These South Africans are very proud of their beautiful
city and of their great mining industry on the Rand. They
are also embarrassed by and ashamed of the Native problem
that industry has helped create; they usually ignore it, but
sometimes they feel reluctantly called upon at least to men-
tion it.

I said I thought it was far too beautiful and prosperous
a city to have all those dreadful locations in and near it,
and I could not understand why a modern population
would risk its public health with such a menace. Surpris-
ingly, they all agreed that they are disgraceful and must be
cleaned up. They went on to tell me that something would
have to be done about their treatment of the Native also.
One lady mentioned the matter of transport for Natives in
South Africa. She says the buses around Johannesburg
charge Natives five times as much fare as Europeans; that
her maid has to pay 37 cents bus fare to go to her location,
while she herself pays only 8 cents for twice the distance.
She says there is no bus service at all to many of the locations,
and the Natives must come into town on foot. And when
there is a service, it is always expensive, irregular, and with
broken-down discarded buses.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 9I

An alarming thing happened on board last night: a
deranged passenger tried to kill himself by slashing his
throat. He is an Englishman, a settler who is being taken
back to England under guard. He is in the stateroom with
barred windows and protected door. The ship’s doctor tells
me he will have to be confined to an institution wheil he
gets home. Poor man.

July 13. Today we put in at Dar-Es-Salaam, after threading
our way cautiously past dangerous-looking reefs, through a
beautiful little paradise of green islands. Pauli said the reefs
made him think of pirates and wrecks, and was delighted
when passengers told him this coast is famous for wrecks.
Miss P. says that during the First World War the Germans
(Tanganyika was then a German colony) filled a ship with
concrete and sank it in the mouth of the harbour in order
to block it. That is why it is so difficult for ships to get in
and out now, and the pilot is sorely needed.

We went ashore to see the beautiful town, which is laid
out rather like Berlin. The wide clean streets are very
handsome and modern, but very, very hot. The narrow
streets of the Native quarter are much cooler and much
better suited to this blazing tropical sun. There is a modern
German-built hospital, a beautiful government house, and
a marvellous Strand Avenue along the sea front. And there
is a fascinating park in which the Germans planted every
type of tree they could find from all over the world.

We did a lot of shopping in the town. The shops are nearly
all Indian and are filled with the most gorgeous eastern silk
materials. I chose a lovely Assam silk for a bathrobe for
Pauli, a summer coat for myself of the famous tussore silk,
summer suits for us both of an Indian silk rather like pongee,
and some cool pyjamas and night dresses — all at astoundingly
low prices. The silks are all specially woven for tropical wear,
and while they are sturdy and have body enough to hold
their shape, they are surprisingly cool and fresh and comfort-
able in the great heat, and are said to launder beautifully.

92

AFRICAN JOURNEY

Everything will be made by hand and to measure, and
delivered to us in the ship tomorrow at Zanzibar.

After a full day in Dar-Es-Salaam we rejoined our ship,
and overnight made our way up to Zanzibar, a lovely
Arabian Nights island a little farther north, off the coast of
Tanganyika.

July 14. Zanzibar. Hired a car and a guide so that Pauli
and I might see as much as possible of the island. We stopped
at the famous museum. As we arrived at the entrance we
saw a class of Indian and Arab schoolgirls leaving, chattering
and giggling as schoolgirls will, and very picturesque in
their motley dress — some in shorts, some in saris, and some
with veils.

There was some lovely silver work in the museum, so
delicately and intricately carved that it looked like exquisite
lacework. And there was a wonderful drum — huge, made
with a heavy skin, and with a deep rich rolling tone which
made us think of Paul.

From the museum we drove to the Swaheli village: It
was very pretty and oriental, with fascinating little houses
of reed walls and thatched roofs. Winding our way through
the narrow streets with houses crowded against each other,
we came to the Native market, which is right in the ordinary
street. There were barbers busy with customets in barber
chairs on their own front porches; shoemakers hammering
and sewing at shoes on benches on their porches; all kinds
of merchandise — garlic, fresh fruit, vegetables, and dreadful-
looking fish — spread out on benches on the porches. Flies
and smell everywhere.

The Arab market a little farther on was much the same,
perhaps just a shade cleaner.

Driving out into the cooler countryside we saw large
stone houses, now deserted looking, which used to be the
homes of the rich Arab plantation owners. The old Arab
doors with heavy wooden carvings and brass studs are
handsome in the sun. The old Arab graveyards are lovely

AFRICAN JOURNEY 93

too, with their gravestones mouldy and falling to pieces,
green and neglected, but dignified still.

We passed miles and miles of clove and coconut groves.
A fairytale island, this Zanzibar, with its lush green and its
palms and spices, Arabs and Indians and Africans. But the
flies — the flies are not so fairy-like.

And so back to the ship, to find it swarming with the
Indian merchants from Dar-Es-Salaam, delivering the
orders from the day before. Our clothes are perfect, well
made and well fitted.

Later, as we stood at the ship’s rail looking out into the
velvet night, a passenger joined us and pointed out the
Southern Cross in the sky. We could make out the irregular
partly double cross quite plainly. Our friend says it is visible
near the equator and southward, but not at all in the
Northern Hemisphere.

July 15. Arrived at Mombasa, the Kenya port, at six this
morning. The approach is beautiful : the harbour filled with
colourful Native craft and a few modern liners, the coral
beach, the reed enclosures in the water, the beach houses
above on the cliffs, great coconut palms tall and leaning,
the extraordinary baobab tree with its peculiar thick trunk
and white branches — dead looking — shooting out above,
lush tropical growth everywhere. The scenery is fascinating.

We leave the ship here at Mombasa and go overland by
train to Uganda. The ship goes on to Bombay, crossing the
Indian Ocean.

The immigration and customs officials who came on
board said they had been especially instructed to look after
Pauli and me, and anything they could do they would do
gladly. They were very kind and helpful. I sense Paul’s
hand somewhere.

We drove through the town to the Manor Hotel, which is
charming. The proprietor, a European, proved to be a
devoted fan of Paul’s and was most cordial, going to consider-
able lengths to make us welcome and comfortable. (This was

94 AFRICAN JOURNEY

a great relief, because the hotel was European and very
smart, and with South Africa just behind me I expected
anything.) He gave us a cool spacious sitting room for the
day (we leave by train this afternoon for Kampala), and we
had a delicious lunch in the pleasant dining room of simple,
light, cool, sensible food which he chose for us himself.

The proprietor then showed us around the hotel, explain-
ing that it is typically tropical : it is built as open as possible.
The dining room is on a platform with all sides open,
though screened, so that it gets all the breezes and is delight-
fully cool ; the waiters go over a little balcony to the separate
kitchen. All over the hotel in all the rooms there are fans
in the ceilings, screens and blinds to the enormous windows.
There are innumerable African servants everywhere, in
long white gowns and white caps. They seemed interested
in us, as we were in them. I spoke with them when I got a
chance. They told me they are from upcountry in Kenya,
and are only in town to make money. They return to their
homes as soon as they have enough. They said no African
will live in town if he can avoid it, ^‘because conditions are
bad, very bad.” A few of them spoke halting, formal English.

After lunch we talked by telephone with Paul in London.
His voice certainly bridges the distance. With thousands of
miles between us, that big deep warm rich tone is magic
over the wires to Pauli and me. Pauli always begins his
telephone conversations with Daddy!”, and then his eyes
grow big and round, and his smile grows wide as he hears
the big voice roll over the wires.

Paul says he has three films lined up now: King Solomon* s
Mines for Gaumont British, Damballa for Hammer Pro-
ductions, and the Sahara film for Capitol. He says he has
had my letters and is glad all is going well, and swears he
will write us by air mail to Uganda. We’ll believe that
nonwriter when we get the letters. He says that as soon as
we arc safely arrived in Uganda, he will nip off to Moscow
for the rest of the summer. He will spend the time with
Sergei Eisenstein, watching him film in the country.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 95

After our satisfying telephone conversation we went
shopping in a rickshaw. We have seen so many pictures of
rickshaws, and have always wanted a ride in one, but this
was our first opportunity. They are quite common here in
Mombasa. We chose one drawn by a black Moslem and
found it very comfortable and leisurely.

Bought some beautiful postcards and a sun helmet
for myself. They tell me ladies don’t wear them, but after
feeling the Mombasa sun, I decided this lady will wear one,
as from now. Pauli already has his. They are very cool and
airy. The Moslem took us down to see the Native market,
and then suddenly, it seemed to us, it was traintime. We
left Mombasa at four, and are due in Kampala Friday,
July 17, at four-twenty — two full days. We have a comfort-
able compartment and expect to keep our eyes glued to the
windows.

July 16. In the train. I have been thinking back over our
trip up the east coast. Leaving South Africa we saw fewer
and fewer Europeans. In Beira everyone we saw was African
except the storekeeper. In Dar-Es-Salaam there were a
number of Europeans, but many more Indians and Arabs,
as well as Africans. Zanzibar was quite different, almost
oriental, with many Indians, Arabs, and Moslem Africans.
Mombasa was rather cosmopolitan, with European tourists
and settlers, Indians, and Arabs, and a great variety of
Africans — Moslem, Christian, and traditional.

We woke at dawn in the train, hoping to get a view of
Kilimanjaro, the famous mountain peak 19,320 feet above
sea level on the Kenya-Tanganyika border. We were lucky.
At first the peak seemed to merge with the clouds which
surrounded it. Gradually we made out the snow-covered
plateau-like top. Then the sun came out and the
mists cleared, and Kilimanjaro stood revealed, towering
majestically in the distance.

All this part of Kenya is very high. We have been climbing
steadily since we left Mombasa and the heat of the coast,

96 AFRICAN JOURNEY

for the cool green of the highlands. The great baobab trees
are everywhere; there are mango trees, coconut palms, and
great seas of green hills. There are occasional small villages,
and people on the roads and in the fields. Climbing still
higher, we passed mountain range after mountain range,
all covered with a wealth of green.

After breakfast this morning we began to see lots of game.
We are now passing through game reserves: many gnu,
with their delicate colouring and dainty horns, speed along
and give great leaps in which they seem to coast through
the air. Pauli watches them spellbound and makes careful
mental notes. He says when he is old enough he wants to
broad-jump and high-jump, and these performances of the
gnu are very instructive! Herds of zebra graze leisurely,
fat and gentle, clean looking with their white stripes.
Gazelles, wildebeest, and ostriches are everywhere. Pauli
is enthralled.

These uplands are great rolling grasslands with sparse
umbrella bushes — admirable cover for game, and perfect
protection from the sun. When the animals are still, it is
hard to distinguish them from the scenery. Our eyes soon
become accustomed to their shapes and colourings, and we
learned how to watch for motion.

We have to wear sunglasses even in the train, because of
the glare.

When we stopped at a village called Athi-River, I noticed
three separate retiring rooms in the little station, all clearly
marked: Europeans, Asiatics, Africans. It always strikes me
as amusing, pathetic, and a bit silly when I see, Europeans
taking so much trouble to segregate themselves in public
places, when I know these same Europeans fill their homes
with all kinds of Native servants, who come into the most
intimate contact with their food, clothing, and especially
with their children.

The train stopped for more than an hour at Nairobi, so
of course Pauli and I went out to see the town. Cooks’
people were pleasant and helpful. We got our Egyptian,

Matsieng: enclosure of the chief’s first wile.

Viewj.^ifrom inside the Council House of Matsieng.

iKi liasuio rsouse al Matsieng, typu-aJ of

J‘'.t ■;iJ .li!

,'■>7

' i-

of bt'll on gate to Mukama’s palace.

'Fhe making of banana wine, KabaroJe.

M's-'t'i

Bariaiia wiae fememting in trough. Below, wooden vessel for
finished wine.

African canoes on the Scmliki River near Albeni, Congo,

ICatwe: salt masses,

Wrapping' salt ttj plantain-leaf packages at Katwc

‘ 4 ?;

"'A »*■:

Onr of ibr i'uay.nificas'1, hrr<is of cattle beiooging to ti
ofNkalc. IJgatida. grazing in the plains near

AFRICAN JOURNEY 97

Sudanese, and Italian visas for the flight home, and a Belgian
Congo visa just in case we can go there.

Nairobi is like a pretty bustling border town. Car$ are
everywhere, reminding me vaguely of Detroit. There are
big hotels, office buildings, shops. The streets are filled with
white settlers, big-game hunters, tourists, Arabs, Indians,
and Africans.

Leaving Nairobi the train climbed up into Kikuyu
country, more than 7,000 feet above sea level. It is a gorgeous
panorama of green rolling country, hills, and valleys of
almost English greenness. There is lots of sugar cane, and
we pass mile after mile of strange tall slender willowy trees.
We see only Africans now. All the» people in this area
have big holes in their ear lobes, many have part of the
lobe cut away; they wear peculiar attractive ear-rings.

For a while the train ran along the Escarpment, the ridge
of the Great Rift Valley, and we could look down into the
rift. It is irregular and volcanic. They say the rift was caused
by a stupendous eruption. The scenery is extraordinary
and reminds one of the fantastic stories of Rider Haggard.

In the plains beyond the Escarpment there are great
lumps of green mountains rising suddenly and curiously
right in the middle of flat country, ^hich itself is 8, 000 . feet
above sea level.

Everywhere there are coffee plantations, and beautiful
wild flowers make a carpet for miles. The dining-car waiters
get off at statibns and gather mountain flowers for the
tables — we have enormous daisies on ours.

Wc circle a lovely plateau and a great volcanic lake,
surrounded by a dark mountain range, and stop first at
Naivasha, then at Gilgil. Madagascar cattle, distinguished
by the ugly hump, graze everywhere through this area.
The ostriches interest Pauli. There are lots of them; they
spread their plumage and run; then bury their heads in the
earth. There are still herds of gnu, and we both love to
watch them springing, leaping, and coasting through the

AFRICAN JOURNEY 9g

it illustrates so clearly one of the ways in which the British
Government exercises control over the African people.
The supreme and final authority in Uganda — legislative,
executive, and judiciaf — ^is the (xovemor General and the
hierarchy of provincial and district administrators and
commissioners under him — all British, appointed by the
Colonial Office in London, and resident in Uganda.

This official white British personnel works through the
Native ‘‘authorities^’ “indirectly,” so that while apparently
the king rules his kingdom or province through his Lukiko
or Native High Court (which is a central court made up
of the "king, chief justice, treasurer, and the saza or county
chiefs), actually the Afiican ruling machinery is subordinate
to a corresponding superimposed British ruling machinery
called the Central Government.

Each African gombolola chief functions only with the
approval of the local British district commissioner; each
-^rican saza chief acts only under the approval of the British
county administrator; and the king himself is subject to
the confirmation of the Governor General.

July 17. Arrived in Kampala after two hot, tiring but
interesting days on the train. We were met by Archdeacon
and Mrs. Bowers, who brought a telegram from Nyabongo,
the African friend whom we had come to visit. It seems
Nyabongo was delayed in the cross-country trip, and had
asked the Bowers’ to meet us and keep us over-night. They
are typically pleasant, comfortable English people, kindly,
intelligent, and very hospitable.

The Bowers* live in a very attractive comfortable hpuse
next door to an Afiican girls’ school, where there are usually
four to five hundred students. The whole staff is African,
except the headmistress, who is European. Mr. Bowers
says his church (Anglican) uses as many Afiicans on its
staffs as possible; that in some areas there are as many
as two hundred staff members to only one European* He
teHs me that all the education in Uganda is in the hands of
the church.

100 AFRICAN JOURNEY

“Education in Africa is largely in the hands of the church,
which in some places is alone in the field; with sole responsi-
bility ...

“Christians were, the first modern educators in Africa.
Now African education rests upon the church. Probably
85 per cent of all education in Africa is carried on by the
missionary and Christian African personnel, in many
places with Government subsidies but in many places
without any. ...

“One of the outstanding contributions which the Christian
missions have made to the sum of human knowledge is the
systematic study of the languages of the world. Nowhere
is this more true than in Africa, where literally hundreds of
missionaries, singly and in small groups, have learned the
languages of the peoples among whom they have settled,
analysed them and recorded their grammatical structure,
compiled vocabularies and dictionaries, and in many cases
made valuable collections of proverbs and folk tales that
otherwise might soon have been forgotten.’

By evening Mr. Bowers and I had reached what Pauli
calls a “discussion footing,” and he was telling me all
about taxes and government. There are no reserves in
Uganda as there are in South Africa. The whole Protect-
orate is regarded by the Colonial Office as Native territory,
and European settlement is definitely discouraged.

The African here in Buganda pays $3.75 tax per year to
the Central Government (British), $12.50 per year to the
Native government, and $1.75 per year to his landlord. The
Central Government builds the chiefs’ houses, pays their
salaries, and does some share of building and keeping ^ip
the roads. The Native government takes over local affairs.

Mr. Bowers and I got on very well together until we came
to the question of salaries for teachers. Here in Uganda,
as everywhere else in Africa, the salaries for Europeans —
officials, teachers, clerks, and all workers — are royal when
compared to the infihitesimal wages paid to Africans for

^ From CknsHan Actton in Afiicarrcport of the Church Conference on African
Affaiig, Otterbein Collie, Westerville, Ohio, June, 1942.

XOa AFRICAN JOURNEY

exactly the same work, eVen though, as often happens,
the African is better trained and more efficient at the job.
Me Bowers, who until then had seemed to me quite reason-
able, took this great difference in salaries* as a matter of
course, quite normal and right, and seemed surprised when
I questioned and pressed the matter,

“Why, surely you realize the European has a higher
standard of living than the Native, and therefore needs
more salary?’’, he asked.

I said no, I didn’t see that at all. I said I thought he was
putting the cart before the horse. The European pays
himself higher salaries, and therefore is able to maintain a
higher standard of living. The European pays the African
much lower salaries, and therefore the African must inevit-
ably have a lower standard of living.

So far I have come across many Europeans here in Africa
who I km sure are living at a much higher standard than
they were accustomed to in the home country. Africans
tell me they themselves-r-the vast majority of them — are
living at a much lower standard now than before the coming
of the Europeans.

It looks to me as though the African has been forced to
lower his own normal standard in order to make possible
the often unjustifiably high standard which the European
arbitrarily insists ujx>n maintaining for himself.

Leonard Barnes has given a clear analysis of this matter:
“ Many of the people who now find employment in the
Empire would no doubt, if such posts were not open to
them, be employed in some capacity at home. But it is
improbable that they would be anything like so well pro-
vided for. One might perhaps say that one of the main
advantages of the Empire from this standpoint is that it
enables middle-class persons to lead upper-class lives,
on condition of their removing to the tropics to do so. . , .

“The large majority of all these appointments carry
initial emoluments whose value ranges from 3C400 to £^oo
[$2,000 to $3,500] a year. Their average value appears

AFRICAN JOURNEY lOg

to bo somewhat over £500 [$2,500], The investigations of
Colin Clark into the natiotial income of this country
(Britain) and its distributioji, lead to the conclusion that
only some 4 per cent of the occupied population enjoy
incomes of £^00 [$2,500] and over. A job in the colonial
service therefore admits a man at the outset of his career
straight to membership of this exclusive aristocracy, (though
his salary is part of the social income not of this country,
but of the dependency which pays it). . . .

“ . . .Of the administrative services proper it may be
said that the customary salary scales rise to £1,000 [$5,000]
a year in tropical Africa, and to 1,800 [$9,000] a year in
the Asiatic dependencies. There arc also higher posts above
these scales. Anything above j{^i,ooo [$5, poo] puts its
recipient into the same income-group as the top i J per cent
of earners in Britain,

“ . . . Attached . . . are valuable pension rights . . .
long full-pay leave after each prescribed tour of service . . .
free return passages to England, and free or assisted passages
for wives and children. Tours of service may vary from
twelve months in some parts of Africa to four years in the
Fai^ast and elsewhere.

PDn retirement, the holder of a pensionable appointment
— ;and the majority of colonial service appointments arc
pensionable-— may expect to draw a pension of as much as
two-thirds of his ^al salary after thirty odd years of tropical
service; or a proportionately smaller pension for shorter
service, subject to a minimum period of years. . . .

* ^ , . . There are between 36,000 and 70,000 unofficial
jobs In the colonies, etc., which are filled by people from
England who work in them for a term of years and then
come home again to settle down. The holders of these jobs
. . . are paid out of the general social income of those
colonics, and not out of Britain’s social income.”*

July iZ. Nyabongo fetched us early from the Bowers*: He
is a cousin of the Mukama (King) of Toro, and we met him
in England when he was studying anthropology at Oxford.

\ ^ From Emfnre or t)tmocracy ? by Leonard Bames» published by Victor
doSlmcfe, Ltd., London, (Led ko0k C 3 ub Editicm), 87, 88-89, 9 X*

104 AFRICAN JOURNEY

He is taking us to Kabarole, his hcfme in Toro, where I will
do my anthropological field work on cattle culture in Uganda.

I am particularly lucky to have Akiki Nyabongo for host
in Tdro, because he knows nearly everyone there, knows
the history and general background of the people, and is
of course entirely familiar with custom and tradition. He
is actually pj^ of custom and tradition. He is young;
intelligent, friendly, and efficient.

Before we left Kampala he took us to pay our respects to
the Mulamuzi (the African chief justice of Buganda).
The Mulamuzi was cordial, and explained that he had been
prepared for us to spend the night with him in his home, but
when he saw “the Europeans had us** he decided to remain
in the background. He is a big handsome intelligent manj
youngish, with a wonderful sense of humour, and speaks
English fluently. We had a good talk, and I liked him very
much indeed.

His home was very attractive. While we were there, the
Kabaka’s (King*s) son was sent over to play with Pauli.
He proved to be a delightful boy of about nine— just about
Pauli's age — and speaks English well. The Mulamuzi*sf|on
is fourteen, too old for Pauli really, though they all played
together.

The hospitality of these Africans is something special.
Imagine the thoughtfulness behind sending a child Pauli's
own age to play with him! The boys hit it off together at
once, and seemed to enjoy each other's strangeness- In
between play and games, which after a few words of explana-
tion on cither side they understood immediately, they plied
each other with questions, the Kabaka's son always courtepus
and considerate.

After this happy visit, we stopped for a few minutes at
the hospital in Kampala to see Nyabongo's sister, who is a
nurse there. We found her gay and friendly, and are looking
fPrward to seeing more of her later on.

Then we began the long drive to Nyabongo's hopie.
Leaving Kampala for the open country, we were struck

AFRICAN JOURNEY IO5

by the luxunance ot tne vegetation, some wild, some culti-
vated. There are the deep green of the banana groves, the
high walls of elephant grass, and the gigantic papyrus —
often reaching a height of fifteen feet. Nyabongo says the
papyrus grows beside the water courses and in the swamps.
He also says that behind and among the cultivated banana
groves are hidden the courtyards and houses of the people.
We drove for hours without seeing a soul, although there
were thousands of people just out of sight, working in the
fields, groves, courtyards, and houses. From the road there
Was no one, nor a house, in sight.

We drove for four hours, along the equator all the while.
The heat was terrific, and there was dust as well. Just as
Pauli and I began to feel faint — it was nearly two o’clock
and the sun was broiling — ^we stopped for a rest and lunch
at Butoke-Butotano, a tiny village just over the Buganda
border in Toro. People in long white robes seemed to appear
from nowhere to stand at the roadside, bowing in welcome
as we came to a stop beside a neat banana grove. More
people, all men and boys, came down the path through the
grove to the car. Odd that there are no women about.

Our host was an old school friend of Nyabongo ’s, named
Gerasoni. Ha was handsome, with a fine open gentle face
and marvellous eyes, and real presence and intelligence.
He was the soul of hospitality, and seemed delighted with
the honour of entertaining us. He was not at all impressed —
just accepting our visit with eager interest and simple
dignity.

As we got out of the car all the men bowed because
Nyabongo is a prince. They all formally welcomed us,
thanked us for the honour of the visit, then led us along the
path through the grove to the House.

After the broiling sun the cool quiet of the house was a
grateful surprise. I actually needed my coat inside. 'Die house
is cool because it is built for the climate : There is a thatched
roofj and about two feet below the roof a latticework made
of leeds^ closely bounds which makes a heatproof space.

Di

106 AFRICAN JOURNEY

The walls are mud and day, very thick and cool^ and there
is OxJy one window to a room« These windows have board
blinds but no glass.

The house is a typical average one, they tell me ; that’s why
Nyabongo chose it rather than a chief’s house. It is small,
with a sitting^eating room, a bedroom, and one other room.
There is very little furniture. The bicycle leaning against
the outside wall immediately caught Pauli’s eye. They tell
me everyone in Africa who can afford it owns a bicyde.
It is like owning a small caf in England. In the courtyard
at the back of the house are several enclosures surrounded
by high ffences. The larger enclosure is the bathing place,
the smaller one near by is the lavatory. They took Pauli
out to the badi endosure, undressed him, gave him a full
bath African fashion, and re-dressed him. When he came
back he said he felt like a new boy, rested and refreshed.
Nyabongo also had a bath. They offered me one, but seeing
no women about, I settled for washing my face and hands.
Afterwards Nyabongo told me laughingly that the women
would have appeared and taken me to their own bathing
place and washed me. Well, now I know. As it was, I had
my hands full negotiating the lavatory. I was sent into the
smdl endosure which, although endxdy surrounded by a
high dosely woven reed wall, didn’t seem quite private
^ough^-^haps because there was no roof. Finding mysdf
inside what looked like a small empty room open to the sky,
with a clean smooth mud-clay floor, my first thought was :
I have made a mistake, this isn’t the lav. But no, Nyabongo
himself had directed me, so it must be right On more
careful examination I noted a neat pile of large soft leaves
near something which looked like a wooden traffic s%nal
stand. Cautiously moving this stand, I saw beneath it a
deep hole in the ground about a foot in diameter, Imed
with dnd Iliis was the toilet.

' Whoa we collected again in the dtting room, d^ and
cool, our hosts afiered m coffee beans from a channing little
woven basket Hus is the cinttcmiary gestiure of wdeome^and

AFRICAN JOURNEY IO7

hospitality, comparable perhaps to the ofFering of appetizers
in Europe and America. We each took a bean, tentatively,
and Nyabongo showed us how to break off the outside shell
with our teeth, then chew the real bean inside. I ended by
sucking mine soft, then chewing it. It was good. As we
left, they gave me the little basket, complete with coffee
beans inside. (I mmt remember not to admire things.)

We had lunch. At table, we all first had our hands washed
— formally. No Batoro (Ba-Toro, meaning people of Toro)
will eat before washing his hands. A man comes around the
table with a basin and a pitcher of water. He holds the basin
near you, you hold your hands over the basin, and he
pours water over them; you shake them dry while he
passes on to the next person.

Plates were put before us, but no silver. No “weapons,**
as Pauli says. From a big wooden dish set in the centre of
the table we were helped to plantains which had been
steamed to a solid mush, sweet potatoes cooked whole, and
meat (which was roast goat), 'rte goat had been especially
killed in our honour, and we saw its skin pegged out on the
ground in the courtyard, drying in the sun. Nyabongo
sliced off small pieces of meat for us, and we ate entirely with
our fingers, African fashion. It was quite a feat, and Pauli
and I had to watch carefully and experiment for a while
before we could even begin to manage it. The trick is to knead
some of the solid plantain mush into a little ball, bringing
the ball to a sort of point between the forefinger and thumb,
then make a cuplike depression in the ball with the thumb,
dip the ball into gravy, which fills the little depression,
then eat the ball. It taices a bit of doing, but both Pauli
and I were greatly interested in the procedure and did our
best. I enjoyed eating with my fingers, legitimately, as much
as Padli did.

There was no dessert, as Africans do not have dessert.
We finished by washing our hands and mpuths^ — ^which by
then certainly needed washing — ^again over the basin which
was brought around.

I08 AFRICAN JOURNEY

After lunch people came in to see us from all the sur-
rounding villages. They first bowed to Nyabongo, then sat
on the floor just looking and listening. Still no women.
Finally I asked about them, and our host took me to another
courtyard and introduced me to his wife. She was very
attractive and modest, spoke some English, and explained
that it is quite incorrect in their society for the women to
eat with , the men, that they always remain well in the
background and usually out of sight, but that they have
definitely important, responsible, and respected places in
their homes, families, and society in general.

She showed me around the courtyards and graciously
allowed me to take pictures. I wouldn't have dared to ask,
but Nyabongo joined us and suggested that I use my
camera, and that was all I needed.

Rested and refreshed, we were off again in the car. It
was a little cooler, and we found the countryside very
interesting. Buganda is all hills arid valleys. Toro is a high
plateau, with great stretches of grazing ground and hills
running into mountains. In the valleys of both provinces
there is intense tropical greenness, and there are strips of
true jungle which they say are the remains of the original
rain-forest. And always, on high and low ground, the banana
groves, Nyabongo says the banana is more than a general
food ; from the plant in varying stages of ripeness they make
soap, beer, wine; they use the leaves for wrapping parcels,
for keeping water off the roofi in storms; they use the stalks
for building foot bridges. They certainly use the banana.

The red colour of the eai^ goes very well with the deep
green. The grass is more than twice as tall as a man, looks
rather like slim blades of com, and is called elephant grass.
Papyrus, from which the ancient Egyptians made paper,
is much taller than the grass, and grows cverywhere^beside
water.

All along the road as we approached Kabarole chiefi
and relatives of Nyabongo sto^ out by the r<fadside to
welcome us, and we kept stopping the car to exchange

AFRICAN JOURNEY lOQ

greetings. We arrived at six o’clock in the evening, and Pauli
and I were faint with exhaustion. We passed through
Kabarole to the outskirts and came to the guest house of
Maliko Bwente Kaboha, the county (saza) chief with whom
we are to stay. The approach to the house was lovely:
a road winding up a hill .with banana groves on either side.
At the top was a high extensive reed fence which entirely
hid the big well-built rambling bungalow and courtyard and
smaller reed enclosures at the side and back of the house.

We drove through the gate of the outer fence into a
garden courtyard, green with well-kept grass; on through
the next gate into an inner courtyard, much larger; and
came face to face with the house, which was built around
three sides of the court.

Chief Kaboha came out to receive us, and after a charm-
ingly formal but cordial little speech of welcome, turned
over the house to us entirely, to use during our stay in
Toro. I thanked him as best I could, and then sat down,
because I was too exhausted to stand up any longer. He
saw that I was very tired, and he and Nyabongo promptly
ordered baths, Pauli and I were each given a full bath
in warm medicated water, which was to rest> our nerves.
It did, too. Then we were put right to bed.

July 19. Kabarole. Up early, though feeling pretty low,
Pauli seems fit enough, bless him. That’s youth for you.

We are both very much interested in the house. It is
beautiful, a bit elegant, and very comfortable indeed. It is
unlike anything I have ever imagined. Our front and back
steps arc whole logs, laid side by side from the spacious
courtyard across a little moat to. the veranda. The veranda
is shaded by the steeply sloping grey corrugated iron roof
and closely bounded reed latticework.

Through the front door to the right is the cool sitting
room, and to the left the very large double bedroom, from
which a hall leads out^onto the back veranda, which faces
an entirely private “personal” courtyard, containing the

no AFRtQAN JOUHNEY

bath and lavatory endosures, separate, and a short distance
from the house.

The right wing of the house is built closed oflf from the
rest, and is the dining room. We reach this by walking
around the front veranda, or by crossing the front court-
yard. The back door of the dining, room leads out onto the
kitchen court and enclosures, where all the cooking, laundry,
and household work are done. All the courts are enclosed
by high, beautifully woven reed fences, giving complete
privacy.

Inside the house, about four feet below the sloping
corrugated roof, is a whole second ceiling of reed lattice-
work bound together with leather thongs. This makes an
air pocket between the heat of the roof and the room, and
keeps it always cool. The walls are made of a plaster-like
mud-clay-cement which is whitewashed with a natural
chalk mixture. The floor is made of small volcanic stones
gound to a powder, mixed with sand and held together
with cow dung. The floors arc entirely covered with matting
and woven grass mats, all of which have pretty, simple
designs. ^

There is no furniture except absolute necessities. In the
sitting room are a few chairs, a table, and a few grass plaques
on the wall. In the bedroom are two beds, two chairs, and
a table with pitcher washbowl, and soap dish. The beds
are different from any I have ever seen: single, with four
round posts (legs only). Bars across the head and foot of the
bed fit into the posts, as do bars on each side. Pauli’s has
a series of strong thongs interwoven across the space between
the bars, making a ^rt of woven spring with a little ^*give’*
rather Kke a hammock, only much more taut and much
stronger. Mine has a similar woven spring of strong vdde
grass tape. A little pallet is laid over the ‘^spring,” then the
sheets. The beds are sturdy and surprisingly comfortable,
though one must get used to them.

The bath enclosure is roomy and well protected by a high
reed ibfice^ though open to the dsy. One always bat^

Ill

AFRIOAK JOURNEY

before sundown, and it is always warm. It feels a bit odd to
have a bath outdoors. The lavatory enclosure is immaculate
and quite private: the hole dug in the ground, lined with
zinc, and kept covered when not being used. Everything is
spotless, convenient, and comfortable.

The front of the house faces Kabarole, the capital of Toro,
though we cannot see it because of our spacious courtyards
and high reed fences. The back of the house faces the famous
Ruwenzori Mountains, which arc quite near, and are
approximately on the equator.

After breakfast I felt pretty rotten, Nyabongo looked
closely at me, felt my pulse arid forehead, and sent me back
to bed. I went gratefully, which frightened Pauli. He knows
me as the ‘‘doetpr** or ‘‘nurse,’’ telling everybody else what
to do. During the day *1 developed a roaring fever, was cold
and shivery, then pouring with perspiration, head bursting,
eyes bulging, back broken in two at the waistline, and terrific
nausea with nothing happening. I was thoroughly frightened
and poor little Pauli kept asking fearfully: “How is the
Manuna? Must I telephone DaKldy?” I was too ill to care
what anybody did about me or about anything, but I

remember trying not to frighten him further.

/

July 21, Nyabongo, amazingly, turned very efficient nurse,
went over my symptoms calmly and intelligently, gave me
dose after dose of medicine— each one nastier than the one
before, but each producing results'. After two days he finally
broke the fever, cleared me up, and got me up on my feet—
very dizzy and floating, but up anyway.

Pauli seems all right. Chief Kaboha has sent his son John,
who is eleven, to play with him. They are having a wonderful
time.

Jtdy 22 . 1 felt^ better today. The Muk2una’8 suter, Komun-
tale, came to see me. Her title is Rubuga, which means
Qpeen Sister. She is big, handsome, a very pretty smooth
hiwn cQlouri very shy but delightfully firie^y, add sp^ks

112 AFRICAN JOURNEY

English. We got on immediately. When she felt sure I was
strong enough she took me in ^e car to the local market,
which was most interesting. She made me take my camera
along, and I blessed her for that. I never bring it out unless
I am sure no one will mind.

In one far corner of the market was a place where fish —
dried vile-smelling stuff — was sold to the Nubians. Nyabongo
says the Nubians, soldiers and their wives, were brought
down by Lord Lugard some years ago and remained here,
preferring Uganda to their own country. The women wore
rings in their noses.

I was interested in the women’s corner of the market
where toilet articles were sold : bundles of perfuming sticks,
soap cakes which look like stones, wire bracelets, bark
cloth. In other parts of the market there was produce:
coffee, millet, casava, mushrooms, tobacco, beans, the very
important salt, locusts, etc. Nyabongo says the locusts are
eaten by the Bamba and the Bakonjo, the tribes which live
on the slopes of the* mountains.

The market is held on a sort of common — an open space
outside the village. It was crowded and business was bri^k.
I bought a lot of things and paid for them with East African
silver (which is almost identical with English silver). It
was interesting to watch my purchases being wrapped in
banana leaves. I then bought a grass shopping bag to hold
them.

When we got home Queen Sister explained my purchases
to me. The soap ball {asboni) is used a great deal for shampoo;
it leaves the hair very clean and very black. The soap stone
is a flat cake of medicinal clay found in river beds or in the
mountains. The women take up the wet clay, work it into a
very thick pancake, and dry it very hard in the sun; it is
called orusasa. To use it you dip the cake into water, rub it
in the palm of the hand into a sort of mud, and rub the mud
over a small surface of the arm well into the skinf it dries
and rubs off, bringing all the dirt and skin trash with it,
leaving the skin dry, cle^, and sweet-smelling; in this way

AFRIGAN JOURNEY II3

you go all over the body in sections, cleaning and scenting it.

The bundle of perfiime sticks is made up of branches
from a tree called ebibaya^ which grows in the valley; the
people put the sticks in a small fire vessel and let them bum
very slowly, put the fire under the chair in which the -lady
is sitting, and cover her well with blankets; she thus gets
a kind of scented smoking, which leaves her clean and fresh
and smelling very sweet.

The bark cloth, orubugOy is made from large strips of bark
from a tree called umutoma; the very thick bark is pounded
with a club till fiat and thin, then laid in the sun for two or
three days to dry. Red clay is pounded in to colour it.
Orubugo is used for blankets, dresses, and other cloth
articles. Strangely enough it is made only by men.

I was tired and a bit weak after the market, so had a rest
before dinner. Nyabongo says dinner was typical: chicken
or beef steamed with lots of onions; plantains steamed
thoroughly to a digestible stiffish mush; sweet potatoes
steamed whole or mashed; and we had bananas for dessert.
'The bananas are large, very yellow, and tree ripened,
hence their marvellous taste — exactly as though they already
had sugar and cream added. You cat the banana from the
skin as you peel it.

Breakfast is pineapple or orange juice, or both. And 1
get coffee, Pauli gets milk.

People come from far and near to see us : chiefs, ministers,
teachers, students, herdspeople, ordinaiy people. All make
formal greetings, thank us for coming to their country, for
bringing news of the outside world. According to their age
or rank .they sit on the floor, on stools, or on chairs. The
stools look awkward, rather like something we would set a
large jardiniere on^ But, as Pauli says with a naughty
giggle, “It makes our jardinieres very comfortable when we
set them on the stools.’’

The English the people use is charmingly formal — ^sdmost
church. The Chief was worried when I was ill, and every
morning came to my window and said, “Are you awake?

II4 AFRICAN JOU.RNEY

Afc you: better? I am very pleased to hear so.” The children
say, ^^Come let us play,” with exactly the same intonation
as Gome let us pray.”

At first, the people who came to see us welcomed us very
warmly, then sat down and remained quiet. I began by
talking with those who understood English, and soon we
were all talking at once, sometimes waiting for translation,
sometimes understanding the general drift so that inter**
pretation was unnecessary. Word soon got about that
we were very much “all right”; then people came in a steady
stream from far and near.

The fabulous Mountains of the Moon are as fascinating
in fact as they are in story. They are called Rwenzoli by
the people here, Ruwenzori by the Europeans. It was
Ptolemy, the great Greek geographer, writing about
A.D. 150, who gave them the name Mountains of the Moon.
The classical tradition that the sources of the Nile are
in two lakes, whose waters are fed by the snows melting on
Rwenzoli, was handed down unchallenged until it was con*
firmed by Stanley in 1888^ when he came upon this mountain
range. It is romantic to think that the historic Nile begins
practically just beyond our back yard, with the melting of
♦the snow on these mountains.

The range forms a natural barrier l3etwccn West and East
Africa, and between Uganda and the Congo. The peaks arc
usually clothed in clouds and mist, but occasionally they are
dear, and with the sun on them they are a magnificent
sight. From our enclosure we can see the cattle grausing on
the foothills and the low slopes, where the obscure Bakonjo
tribe lives. The bamboo line begins at about 7,000 feet, and
part of the great Uganda*Congo heavy tropical forest pours
over the low slopes on the far side cmd into the Congo.
Leopards roam these forests right up to the permanent
snow line, which begins at about 13,000 feet and extends to
the 20,000 foot high peaks.

Pauli and I have got into the local habit of looking towards
Rwen9K>U every morning when we get up. The best time to

AFRICAN joURNBY II5

see the range is first thing in the morning and in the late
afternoon. ^

Presents are always arriving, some from people all over
the countryside whom we haven*t even seen. The Chief
sent a stool especially made for me. I had admired the stools,
and commented on their unexpected comfort. I must stop
this. It is made of oak, out of a single tree trunk, with no
joints anywhere. It was smeared with cow dung to keep
the new wood from splitting, then roasted in the fire; when
the wood has aged the cow dung will be washed off and the
wood will be polished.

Some of the presents are disconcerting: a live goat, a
covered wicker basket in which a fat live hen nestled in
straw, huge bunches of bananas and plantains, baskets of
oranges and pineapples when word went round that we
liked them for breakfast; and beans. WeVe had a delicious
dish of the beans cooked with onions and mashed to a stiff
pur^e.

July 23. Went to pay our respects to the Mukama of Toro
this morning. He sent his car for us at nine-thirty, and we
drove through a locust storm to the palace. Pauli said it was
like the movies. (It is strange, when one comes to think of
it, that natural phenomena should seem like fiction or films,
and not vice versa, to city bred or highly civilized people.)

When we left the house the sky was clear and the sun
brilliant. Five minutes later the air was thick and dark with
locusts : They were swarming everywhere, forming a dark
grcy*moving blanket over everything green ; over the ground,
over the trees, over the car inside and out. They abandoned
xjs and the car immediately when they found we weren^t
the green stuff which they had come to eat. Clodds of them
SHtA the sky blotting out the sun. Panli said it was just &ke
a ‘‘rainstorm without the watcr.’"^ In less than twenty
minutes they had gone, leaving the countryside stripped bare
of green. Nyabcu^ says they don’t stay long in Toro because
it is too cold here near the mountains;

Il6 AFRICAN JOURNEY

The palace is built on the highest hill in Kabarole, com-
manding a splendid view of the surrounding country. It
is simple but impressive; white, and strongly built, standing
within a series of spacious and beautiful courtyards, the
whole enclosed by a high handsome reed fence. Nyabongo
tcUs me these reed fences are typical of Uganda, and the
intriguing woven designs have meaning; important chiefs
and royalty have certain definite designs; some patterns
indicate kitchen, bath, private, or ordinary enclosures.

We drove through the gate into the outer c6urtyard where
we were met by the King’s secretary, who ushered us at
once to the royal sitting room. The Mukama is a big well-
built handsome brown man, about six feet tall and very
broad, very well groomed in a well-cut tropical suit. He
is young, in his late twenties I should guess, and speaks
English very well. He was cordial and friendly, entirely
informal, and we liked him immediately.

Pauli had taken great pains to learn the formal royal
greeting. He and Nyabongo had gone into a huddle the
night before to be sure he was letter perfect. So Pauli,
confident, stood to attention after the first greeting and said,
in perfect Rutoro {Ru-Toro, the language of Toro) : **Z^rna
OkcUel"* (Hail to the King!) Mukama smiled in delighted
astonishment, and then we all sat down. Pauli then went right
oyer to the King, climbed into his lap, touched his forehead
and chin with the tips of his fingers and said, *"Orairata
waitu?** (Did you sleep well. Ours?). I was startled, and
hoped he knew what he was doing. But it seems this is the
ti^aditional royal greeting. Mukama answered him gravely
in Rutoro, then laughed with pleasure and hugged him.
“This small one has a gift for languages,” he said. “Not only
the word?, but the accent, the inflection is perfect.” He then
wdcomed us very waipily to Toro, we had a pleasant chat,
and he said he was looking forward to a long talk with us
very soon. We then took our leave.

Jt seems it is custom for the first royal audience to be short
and merely good manners, l^ter, if the king wishes, he sees

AFRICAN JOURNEY II7

more of the visitors. Nyabongo says we are to address him
as Mukama, which is respectful but informal. His title is
Omukama wa Toro (King of Toro), and his name is Amoti
Kamrasi Rukidi.

From the palace we went along to see the Prime Minister
of Toro, who has recently returned from official safari to
Katwe, the salt district near the Congo which we hope to
visit. He is intelligent and most attractive, and surprisingly
young. He has to go himself to Katwe and the Sleeping
Sickness Island in the big lake once every three years,
going into the forbidden areas. Then l^e comes back home
and has to remain under observation iwo or three months,
to make sure he has not caught anything himself. Everyone
says, “Katwe? Fever!*'

We had a most interesting conversation, and he showed
me something in the new book on Uganda by Scott and
Thomas which was troubling him. It was about “crown
lands.’* When I asked him whose crown, Mukama’s or King
George’s, he looked at me silently and speculatively:
“That’s an idea, and thank you for it! ” he said. I still don’t
quite know what he meant.

The Prime Minister took us to see the Rukurato, or local
parliament house, and then we went along to pay our
respects to the British official ^t Fort Portal, just a few miles
from Kabarole.

The District Commissioner is Mr. Temple-Perkins, a New
Zealander — youngish, a long tall pleasant straightforward
man, whom we liked on sight. After the usual exchange of
formalities, he took us over to the residency where we could
really talk. The house is typically English, very attractive
with gardens and grounds and a sweeping view. He gave us
tea, and we talked some more. He knows of Raymond
Firth, my anthropology professor in London, who also
comes from New Zealand. And he had helped with
the “location unit’’ which came out to photograph back-
ground for the Sanders film. So we began with Mends in
cominon.

Il8 AFRICAN JOURNEY

Wc sounded him out on the possibility of the trip to the
Belgian Congo, and asked permission for Kobaha to acconi-
pany us. It looks complicated*

July 24. Mukama asked Nyabongo to let Pauli come over
to stay with him. It is a very high compliment. But Pauli,
while appreciating the honour, didn’t want to leave me,
and I have to be here where I can work. It was sweet of
Mukama* '

July 25* Today is Sfiturday. It seems strange, but it makes
no difference what day it is. The only important or especially
significant day in the week is market day. That is the day
everyone look forward to, the day when you see and chat
with everybody, exchange what news there is, and do your
shopping.

Today was pretty important for me, however, because I
did my first actual field work. We spent the day in Kahun*
gere, a cattle village about five miles from here, right at the
foQt of Rwenzoli, where I studied the details and customs of
the care of the cattle — the milking, watering, etc. Kahungere
is in what is known as the “west grazing ground’* of Toro.

We got up early, dressed in long trousers and mosquito
boots as protection against flies. Wc took “the path,** which is
so narrow we had to walk single file through the country-
side. On either side of the path the elephant grass was more
than three times our height, and in many places it was so
high as to make the path nearly dark, as though in a forest.
The moment you step off die road you are practically
invisible.

At fiwt Pauli and I were nervous, thinking of the possibility
of lions, snakes, etc.,* but Nyabongo and the three men who
were with us were so gay and unconcerned we decided all
most be well. Soon we realized diat the path was hard and
Well travelled. It wound over the hills, crossing many other
paths^ oftek croatting the open road. It was easy to walk
on if you kept to the very centre. Occasionally wc met

AymOAN JOURNEY tlQ

people, and they would stand back against the wall of
tali grass to let us pass, with a pleasant greeting. It was all
so novel to us that we covered the five miles before we
realize it and came out over a low mountain to the cattle
village.

In the village we rested in a kraal, the home of Kymuhan*
gire, Nyabongo’s former nurse. It was a typical herdsman’s
house — ^small, dark, but beautifully clean, with a fresh
dried-grass floor on the*porch, firesh grass mats in the yard
and on the floor of the sitting room where chairs had been
placed for us, and in which we rested. '

People came to greet us firom all the surrounding villages —
all herds-people» Nyabongo held council for a short time,
sitting iii state under the roof of an open hut in the enclosure,
with everyone sitting on the ground in front of him.

Then we all walked over to the cattle kraal which was
about a mile away behind a banana grove. A kraal may be
an enclosure with a house and all the subsidiary inner courts
and huts, thay be a group or even a small village of houses
within a huge outer enclosure, or may be a large open space,
with a few roofed corrals where cattle are kept.

In the centre bf the cattle kraal was a large open area
stamped clear of grass and burned black by fire. The cattle
were brought here from the grazing grounds and made to
circle around a smoking fire to drive away the flies. There
were about sixty to seventy cattle, nearly all with the
enormous long mu^erous4qoking horns, cows as well as
the one bulL There is usually one bull only to ^ch kraal.
He is called ngundu, is always respected and not killed, except
in s rate cases when he is presented to sonie distinguished
person. In the old days people had been known to caminit
suicide if the bull died.

Near the open area is the milking kiaal, a fenced-in space
with a gateway, in the centre of which is the herdsman's
a sacred fire which is never allowed to go out,
except wh«a the Mag dies. The cows are driven ir^ the
milking kraal two or three at a time, are stood over Ae

120 AFRICAN JOURNEY

smoking fire, brushed with long grass for flies, and their
hides cleaned. Then they are walked over to the milking
space. The calves are brought in, are allowed to suck each
nipple clean and to start the flow of the milk, then aVe led
away. The herdsman then washes his hands with water
from a horn, a clean fumigated milk bowl is placed between
his knees by the herdgirl, and he squats almost to the ground
(does not sit) holding the bowl between his knees. He milks
directly into the bowl, making foam as he does so. This is
expert work. Milking without foam is called buhule, and is
ordinary. Milking with foam is called ifurOy and is elegant.
No good herdsman will milk without foam. The milker,
called mata^ is usually elderly, with great experience.
Women never milk.

Pauli was given a glass of the foaming milk, said it was
delicious, and drank it down. But later he was terribly ill
with spasms of the stomach. He had eaten bananas in the
morning against orders. The long trip, the excitement,
the indigestible bananas, and the raw milk combined to give
him the wildest nausea.

The cows circling the smoking fire in the open space
lowed and called, and made what sounded like intimate
conversation with the cows inside being milked. The cows
answered back in kind. The herdsmen seemed to understand
these noises, and laughed and made jokes about them.

After the cows had been milked their teats were smeared
with soot from the fire to make them too bitter for the calves
to drain. Then they were driven out and other cows brought
in.

After a while we went back to the house, and Nyaboqgo
agsdin held council. Then we had lunch; millet cooked to
a thick mush and very karchy, goat meat, and our first
taste of sim~stm prepared with mushrooms— which was very
good indeed. After lunch Nyabongo put Pauli to bed, then
went out and held further council, with the- men, while
I talked with the women through an mterpreter. They first
welcomed me and thanked me for coming to their obscure

AFRICAN JOURNEY I2I

village. They wanted to know what kind of work women did
“outside,*^ how they brought up their children, how their
men treated them, how they dressed, whether they went
to school with the men. They wanted to know if I thought
our black children will have a place in the world, a real
place, or; will ‘‘they only be told what to do?'* “We are
tired of being told what to do. Our children will be more
tired of it."

Nyabongo dismissed the men and called the women ta
council. Then the children. It went on for hours. Pauli was
sleeping restlessly, and I was a little worried about him.

Later Nyabongo and I went down to the trough to watch
the cattle being watered. When we returned we found Pauli
feeling pretty badly, so we started home. Almost the whole
village walked part of the way With us, African fashion,
in friendly farewell. They turned back when we reached
the path. Long before we had covered the five miles home
PauH was ill and had to be carried on the shoulders of the
men. He was too sick to be embarrassed.

July 29. It rained and double rained last night. “Big rain,"
they call it here. Nothing I have heard or read of tropical
rains prepared me for them. They are frightening with their
great walls of water, flaming lightning, bellowing thunder,
and uprooting winds. Pauli says the rain beats down so
hard it bounces, like hail.

This morning the air was chilly, all the dust laid, and the
mountains startlingly clear. We can see the cattle grazing
on the low slopes, the burned fields, and the lovely jagged
outlines of the snowy tops.

Both Pauli and I have been very ill. The wild indigestion
developed * into something quite serious. The bananas
formed into hard lumps which veiy nearly gave him intestinal
obstruction.

Nyabongo 's sister, who is the nurse in the Kampala
Hospital, and Qjieen Sister came over to help Nyabongo
nurse us. Pauli had violent spasnu of the stomach, couldn't

I»2 AfRIOAN JOURNBY

keep anything down for three days, and got quite thin.
He was pretty scared, poor lamb| but not half so scared as
I was. I couldn’t imagine what I would tell Big Paul and
Mother if anything happened to him. I dared not think
what I would tell myseE Finally we got him cleared out,
and then he broke out in a banana rash — great welts on
the skin of hands, arms, legs, face, and neck. We massaged
the welts with a tropical ointment, which made him comfort-
able, and they eventually disappeared.

Then I went down with a terrific fever and was in bed
three days — ^very faint, couldn’t even sit up. I was too low
to worry about our being such a nuisance to our hosts.
I must say it gives one a feeling of confidence to see how the
people mobilize for illness, take it in their stride as part of
the ordinary business of living, and know just what to do
and how to make you comfortable.

Medicine plants and medical knowledge are almost
entirely women’s work. The young ones get information
from their mothers and grandmothers (from “the old ones”)
and learn the roots, plants, leaves, medicinal clays, and their
uses. A man doctor is never called except for extreme or very
serious illness. All the minor general ailments are women’s
work. You call in another woman if you don’t know yourseE
Royal women especially know a great deal about these
things. It is considered one of their accomplishments to
know medicine. Qpeen Sister knows far more than her
cont^nporaries.

We have now settled do^ comfortably to living. We
know what we can eat, what agrees with us, what to decline.
Goat meat and goat soup, which are very popular, are
definitely out because both alvrays disagree witih us and we
dislike them. We get a lot'of chicken, which is also popular
and we like it very much; The sweet potatoes are very good^
and so are the green beans which they don’t strings and the
dried beans which they mash. All are beautifully cooked,
well seasoned and delicious. And there^^ always the
plantains, whidt are the potatoes of the Afiridan table.

AFRIGAK JOURNEY 123

Qjiccn Sister came over yesterday and spent the day with
us. She is certainly good company. She said Pauli must not
eat the small bananas, whi^ are indigestible, especially
for children; he must eat only the large ones, which are not
so heavy nor so rich — although they look so-^but arc softer,
sweeter, and already partly digested in the growing and
ripening. Nyabongo promptly collected all the small ones,
put them out of reach, and sent for big ones.

A gift basket of eggs arrived this morning and an enormous
amount of plaintains. Just as you begin to feel you^ are making
a nuisance of yourself with illness, you wake up one morning
and there on your doorstep are thoughtful, generous,
practical gifts to make you feel welcome.

Went for a walk this afternoon and saw some of the garden
at the back. It is mostly peas and coffee. Beyond the garden
we found an old hut in an enclosure, where a girl was
grinding millet. The grain was spread out on a large, flat,
slightly hollow stone, and she rubbed it with another smaller
stone until it was crushed to a fine white powder. This
powder (flour) is used for making a vegetable mush and a
mild beer called busera.

When we jgot back from our walk the Chief sent for us to
join him in our kitchen enclosure. There we found two boys
holding a small bull with lovely short horns. Kaboha made
a little formal speech, saying that in the old days when they
had a distinguished visitor of great importance, it was their
custom to present him with a bulk ^Hc said they still cling
to their customs, and now he, Kaboha, was presenting
me, his distinguished guest, with this bull.

I thanked him as nicely and as effusively as I could, 1
wish I could have made a flowery ^ech, which is what I
am afiraid was expected of me. 1 did the best 1 could and
am sure they all sensed that though I was hot wordy, I
was really appreciative. (I needed Paul very badly than.
He would have made a p^ect speech, and they would have
toved the 1^11 of his voice*^ his smile, and his

stature.)

124 AFRICAN JOURNEY

The b\ill was then killed and parts were sent to important
people j and we ate the remainder some days later.

I nailed Kaboha and got him talking. He is most interest-
ing, I was curious about the burning of the fields. Every-
where all over Toro, even on the lower slopes of Rwenzoli,
fields are burning. Kaboha says every year the elephant
grass is cut down, burned, then the ashes are dug into the
ground. Piles of rubbish grass are placed at various regular
points and set fire to, the ashes are spread over the ground
and beaten in by the rain. Then the crop of millet is sown.
This burning of the fields is universal throughout this area —
in Kenya, Uganda, and the Belgian Congo.

Kaboha went on to tell me that the purely economic
crops {ebyamaguHi meaning anything for sale) of Toro are
cotton, coffee, and wheat. Cotton is sown in August and
harvested in January; coffee is sown in the rains, taking
two years for a crop; wheat is sown twice yearly, in April
and August, and harvested in July and November. These
crops are men’s work, from beginning to end, and the women
only help in an emergency.

The generally domestic crops are sweet potatoes, com,
beans, and peas. The potatoes are planted when it rains
and take three months to mature. They are often planted
three times a year if one has enough plots of land. Corn,
beans, and peas are planted in the same plot, twice yearly,
in April and September, and are harvested in July and
December. These domestic crops are women’s work.

Plantains or bananas arc planted whenever it rains;
it takes two years to get a crop. Both men and women
do this work.

Kaboha says the soil and climate here in the centre of
Toro are excellent. We are about 5,000 feet above sea level,
the soil is a fertile volcanic ash, and the rainfall is well
distributed.

Tlie schoolteacliers came in irom the surrounding districts
to s^ me this evening, to talk and listen and to ask questions^.
How I longed for Paul to help me. There were about fifty

AFRICAN JOURNEY 125

of them, most of them young, eager, and intelligent. They
wanted to know all about schools in England and in America :
Do black and white people go to the same schools, or do
governments waste money by maintaining separate schools?
May black people study medicine, economics, law, and the
classics, as well as agriculture and crafts? Is education
expensive, or do one’s taxes cover it ? Are there black teachers ?
How do black people earn money? Are they allowed to do
every kind of work, skilled as well as unskilled — do they work
side by side with white woi*kers? Do they get the same pay?
Will I please tell them about the so-called “backward
peoples” of Russia, and what arc they doing now? (Africans
have been disposed of so long as “backward” that they are
eager to hear what is happening to other “backward”
peoples.) They were heartily encouraged by what I could
tell 'them about the successful integration of nomads like
the Yakuts into the highly industrialized modern Soviet
society.

“How long did it take, this integration?” they asked
anxiously.

“Ten to twenty years,” I said.

A long sigh went through the crowd: “Not the thousand
years they say it will take us ! Though we are not ‘ backward ’
in any sense of the word. What do they mean by this
‘backward’?”

Before I could answer, or try to answer, a fellow teacher
said : “They mean people they have kept back* and continue
to keep back.”

I told them that some of the, more primitive tribes of
Russia had had no written language, and the government
had brought people fe*om such tribes to Leningrad, to the
Institute of Minorities, where they had themselves worked
out a written form for their own languages, with the
help of the great scholars and teachers of the country,
and that now the history and folklore of all these Vibes
tunie been recorded iby their own people, in their own

ia6 AFRICAN JOURNRY

This impressed my listeners enormously. They wanted to
hear everything about this country which looked after its
‘‘children’' so well, I told them every scrap I could.

After a satisfying evening, I walked with them to the
outer gate of the enclosure. The moon was up, half full,
and was as clear as could be. It was quite light and a bit
chilly, but the night was very pleasant and peaceful.

July 30. Today we watched the making of banana wine
back of the kitchen enclosure, in the open, and it was very
interesting. We have been drinking the wine for some time
and find it pleasant and cool, light and fruity. I was curious
to see how it was made.

The whole business of wine and beer making takes place
in a special space set apart for that purpose beyond the
kitchen court. There is a large depression dug in the ground,
about ten ftet square by two and half feet deep, with slop*
ing sides. This hole is well lined first with banana leaves,
then with banana fibres. The hole is smaller or larger
according to the number of bananas used.

The bananas are peeled and thrown into the hole until
it is about one-third full. Then a man jumps into the hole
aod stamps them down with his feet until they are pulpy
and soft, while other men throw in bunches of a special
kind of grass from time to time, until the mass is about
one-half grass and one-half firuit,» and is thoroughly mixed.
The grass is to give the pulp body^ so it can be picked up
and wrung out with the hands later on. If only a small
amount of wine is being made, the mixing is done by the
hands instead of feet. For royalty and injportant distinguished
people the wine must be made in a* special basket, with
papyrus grass^ and always with the hands, never with the feet.

\^hicn th^^ are completely mixed*, water is

added and the whole mixture is well stamped until it is
thin and soft. Then the pulp and gram are combed over to
the side of the' hole with the fingers, letting the juice settle
on the other side, separately* Then the juice is dipped up

AFUIQAM JOUANBY 1^7

with small calabashe$9 poured through a strainer made of
grass placed in a big banana leaf, into big storage calabashes,
and is ready to drink. It is called which means

banana juice, banana wine. It is delicious and contains
no alcohol at all.

To make beer, which is called marwa, and is strong and
contains a good deal of alcohol, millet is roasted, ground to a
flour, and well mixed with the hands with banana juice
until the whole is smooth and red. This is done in a big long
wooden trough. The trough is then covered with a .carpet
of leaves, and onto this carpet is thrown all of the waste
pulp. This keeps the mash warm, and it is left to ferment;
in hot countries it takes twelve hours to ferment, and then is
ready for drinking. In cool countries like Toro, twenty-four
hours are needed. When it is ready, it is dipped up from the
trough with small calabashes, strained off, and stored in
big calabashes.

August I . I havC| been working with the herdswomen in the
dairy, learning a lot about custom and tradition. Every-
thing connected with the handling the milk after it is
collected from the cattle is called bisahi (dairy) and is women’s
business. BisM is considered elegant work for ladies, and
they take great pride in their knowledge and expertness.
Experience in any branch of bisuki is definitely an accomplish-
ment.

The ladies are delightful, intelligent, con^anionable, and
have a great sense of fun. They think it a bit silly for me to
learn all abojat bisahi^ when I have no cattle and no hopes of
getting any. But they like me, and I like them. They feel
there must be some good reason for my learning, so they have
settled down to doing their utmost to teach me. They are
idso pleased with my mterest m and respect for their
euiloms. Some of them speah a little English, I have been
accumulating a few words of Rotoro, ^d we aft understand
gestures and in^doti of voice, aod so we nre able to

AFRipAN JOURNEY

128

We often went off into gales of laughter over misunder-
standings, and we all agreed after the second day that one
of the most important words in any language i? “why?’’
We enjoyed a lot of gossip while we worked, became very
good friends, examined each other’s hair, skin, clothes.
We each found out how the other managed her husband,
home, and children.

It was a wonderful experience for me. I learned a great
deal about the very important business of living, and as a
result have rearranged my sense of values to some consider-
able extent. The leisurely approach, the calm facing of
circumstances and making the most of them, is very different
from the European hustle and hurry and drive, and worry
and frustration when things don’t go well. The African gets
things done, gets a great deal done, but gets it done without
the furious wear and tear on the nervous system. Because
the European doesn’t see his own hustle and bustle he says
the Afiican is lazy, in spite of the fact that the African gets
the work done.

When things go wrong the African docs what he can
a.bout them, then philosophically goes on to something else.
Because he does not waste his nervous energy bewailing
what cannot be helped, the European says he is stagnant,
indifferent, sluggish* I have always thought myself very
energetic and ambitious, and am called “dynamic” by
my friends, yet I find myself continually impressed with the
ambition, energy, and capacity for work of the Afirican.
The European seems unable to recognize these qualities
because their manifestations are in patterns unfamiliar to
him.

Bisahi is carried on in a special hut beautifully built and
immaculately kept. The dried-grass floor is kept fresh and
sweet, and all the milk bowls and calabashes are spotlessly
clc^. The hut is fumigated at regular intervals. I learned
about the making of butter and buttermilki and there was a
Iqt of teasing laughter as the women exp^ned bow evory
young herdswoman, when engaged, always drinks lots ci*

AFRICAN JOURNEY 1129

buttermilk to make her fat and beautiful. Only women and
children drink buttermilk;. men never drink it. Children up
to seven years of age drink sweet milk in the morning and
evening, and plenty of buttermilk at noon. When seven
years old the children begin to eat plantains, meat, and other
things. The children on a diet of milk, are always cleaned out
regularly and thoroughly once a week.

The women deplored the fact that the herds of cattle are
fast dwindling. They say that as recently as 1933 Nyabongo
had a herd of 2,000 cattle, and that even the ordinary person
had 20 to 50 head. ‘‘Then the government began to inject
all cattle with needles, and the cattle died. We understand
that needles are helpful for some diseases. One must study
and understand needles on the one hand, but one must also
study and understand cattle on the other. Our cattle word
healthy. We had no milk or cattle disease. Yet all our cattle
were given the needle, and many of them died. This civili-
zation business,” they sighed, ‘‘can be very destructive*
Now tve have little or no cattle, and must return to the
soil.”

This return to the soil is acutely felt by the herdspeople
because their wealth and prestige, traditions and customs
are associated with the possession of cRttle. The herdspeople
were the high caste, the aristocrats, and the agriculturalists
the lower class, the common men.

August Mukama sent his car for us after lunch today,
and we spent the whole afternoon with him and his family
at the palace. He is a . charming and genial host, and the
ladies are delightful. After the , first few minutes they dis-
carded all formality and we had a wonderful time.

Akiki Komuntale, the Qpeen (Mukama^s wtfe), is nearly
taU as he is, and tlK)ugh young, has a calm and stately
dignity and bearing. Her hair is cut very short like Pauli’s.
She looks so much like Dr. Jimmy Powell, a Negro friend
pf ours who is an X-ray specialist in Harlem, that she could
easily pass for his sister, (^een Mother (Mukama’s mother)
l&S

130 AFUIOAN JOURilEY

is also tall, with ^ charming snub nose and a delightful
smile. They all have clear smooth brown skin, beautifully
kept, and very well-groomed, very short, very tightly curly
hair.

We talked of many things, and I was interested to note
again that the royal family seems 'to know all the useful
practical things, as well as being well informed generally.
In discussing our forthcoming trip to the Congo, it was
Mukama who said we must take our food with us and not
risk eating anything on the road. Nyabongo and Kaboha
had thought we could risk it, but Mukama said definitely
no. In Europe a king would usually ask his A.D.C. for such
information. Mukama knows the mileage to every important
place in the country and always drives his car himself
when not on business of state, though he is, of course, always
accompanied by at least one chauffeur.

Mukama said further that we must take quinine before
we go, we must wear mosquito boots, and we must drink
no water whatsoever. He told me to be sure to look for some
Congo ivory or ebony pieces around Mbeni. He also told
me with a twinkle in his eye that no cameras are permitted
through the customs into the Belgian Congo. ‘Tf the official
sees it he will seal it.** I am glad to know this in good
time.

Then, speaking of cameras, he told me he wais an enthus-
iastic amateur photographer himself, sent for his camera
and took a lot of pictures. I was ddighted and asked for
and received permission to vL^t mine.

Mukama was brought up by his^ mother's family in the
palace, and was educated at Mission Schoed, Mengo High
School, and Budo (a special eoUege for chiefe’ sons) in
Uganda^ On graduation from BudO in 1924 he went to
Ibgland for eighteen naonths, retuirmng in igs'fi; On his
return to Toro he joined the poHce, then die army, where
was a Keutenant in the Kh^s African Rifles. He said he
enjoyed hia mmy iraH^ From the arfrty^ he

AFkXOAN JOURNAY I3I

Mukama has a fine sehse of humour; in school he was
always the centre of mischief, was popular with the boys,
and liked sports; he stiU likes hunting and shooting and is
an excellent shot. He loves throwing the ispear and is very
good at it, though he says he is not so good at it as the
Abyssinians. He was good at his studies and especially
enjoyed history, particularly any history which had to do
with his own people. He is very much interested in music,
has a fine collection of African musical instruments, and
knoWs how to play them. He loves to play the drums and
to listen to them, and owns a magnificent collection of them.
He said he especially likes to listen to ‘‘distant music.*’
He enjoys travelling, has a wonderful safari car, and his
friends say he is a “very safari m^n.”

Home for dinner, and we had some marvellous salt meat
from our gift bull. Small pieces of the meat had been salted
thoroughly, put oh a spit and roasted slowly over the fire.
The combination of ssdt and smoke and tender meat was
delicious. Nyabongo says we may h^ve it often since we like
it so much.

The climate is very unexpected. Today for instance it is
very windy and cool. It rains often, or is cloudy, but we have
many sunny days when the dust is terrible.

The RwenzoU range is usually rumbling. There are mild
earthquakes every week, quakes which split the earth and
make cracks in the houses* We found this startling at first, to
put it mildly, but no one pays any attention to them, so
neither do we. There arc volcanic lakes under the earth on
the hills, which can be heard hissing and steaming when you
sit or lie on the ground; some can be seen letting off steam
above the surface. This is certainly a volcanic area,

August 3. Spent the morning at the p^acc with Mtikama.
He described and explained all about the tradition and
custom of coronation; when he brought out th^ coronation
robes for me to see 1 looked at them so longingly he laughed
and said I eould photograph them if I wished* I took pictures

132 AFRICAN JOURNEY

of the throne, the drums, spears, and the especially significant
Grown-and-!^ard. I was so interested and enthusias^c that
soon I had Kaboha, Nyabongo, and Mukama himself help-
ing me arrange the articles in the sun so I could photograph
them most effectively; finally Mukama put on his robes and
sat on the throne for me. He was terrific.

This present Mukama was crowned on January 30, 1929.
His father died December 31, 1928. In the old days when a
king died all the princes collected all their followers and ran
away, organized themselves, and fought; whoever won the
fight buried his father and was proclaimed king. The present
Mukama is the first to succeed without fighting. When a
king dies the royal drum is turned upside down and remains
so until the new king turns it right side up again.

At three o’clock the afternoon before the coronation all
the royal drums were taken before the palace; the Mukama
beat each drum nine times, then chose the one he wanted
for the ceremony. All the other drums were taken to a
hillock outside the enclosure, where the head drummer
announced that today all the drums are being beaten and let
everyone be, at peace. The drums were then beaten for
dancing, and everyone came to dance and feast. The royal
drums have individual names, and their individual tones
are known and recognized all over the country.

At three o’clock the morning of hi§ coronation the present
Mukama left his grandfather’s house where he had been
living, and with some followers went to the palace. There
he found people standing guard, and a ceremonial fight
took place. After defeating the guards he took the .royal
drum and beat it, thus proclaiming himself Mukama. The
people then gathered and saluted him in the customary
way: Okale!” (Hail to .the King!)

At nine o’clock the same morning the coronation proces-
sion went to Fort Portal where all the people of Toro had
gathered. The British District Commis»oner proclaimed
to the whole assembly: “This is the Mukama who has
succeeded^ his father.”

Mukaifia th^n returned to the palace where he put on his
Grown-and-Beard and made th^ ceremonial wauik to the

AFRICAN JOURNEY I33

Coronation Hotise, a beautiful hut on an eminence in the
palace grounds. He walked all the way .on a special hand-
somely woven grass matting through special gates to the hut,
and was accompanied by young men of noble birth who
shouted praise words {okuswagura) as they walked.

Arrived at the Coronation House, Mukama stood for a
few minutes so that all might see him, and the people
shouted, Okale! Zono> Okale!'* He then returned to the
palace, changed into his usual clothes, and went to sit
on the veranda with his chiefs, vftio were waiting for him.
The small basket of coffee beans was brought out, and he
himself offered coffee, to the chiefs.

If a chief has a father living, he does hot receive this
ceremonia^l coffee. When a chief’s father dies, he goes before
Mukama and announces the death. Mukama then gives
him this ceremonial coffee, and miljc to drink. After this
coffee-milk ceremony, Mukama becomes officially the
chief’s father.

Drums were beaten the whole day and night of the
coronation. Next morning at ten the Mukama and his
chiefs and noblemen to whom he had given the Crown-
and-Beard went into a special enclosure near the Coronation
House and there prepared a shed under which the King
stood and tried pretended imaginary court caSes, as a
formality. On this day Mukama and aU the noblemen must
dress as women.

The Crown-and-Beard is symbolic, and is conferred by
Mukama for some special service, and as a very high
honour. It is rather like a baronetcy, is hereditary, and
remains in the family. There are not many: only four
among the eight senior chiefs, and one among the forty-two
sub-chiefs.

Still August 3. This afternoon the Bakonjo Chief came and
took U6 to the Bamba-Bakonjo Market. We arrived nearly
at the end of the day, and many of the people were leaving,
^ut I Managed to get some pictures. It was right out in
the fields near the foot of Rwenzoii in a clearihg in the

134 AFRICAN JOURNEY

dephant grass near 'the main road. The people are quite
small^ and are related to the Pygmies.

Tonight we packed and made our final plans for the
safari to the Congo tomorrow. We leave early in the morning.
Kaboha is driving his safari car and taking along Kasujo,
our very nice soldier from Mwengi, as a reserve , driver,
as well as an extra man for mechanical emergencies.
Kaboha and Nyabongo are almost as excited as we are;
none of us has ever been to the Congo, and dil of us are
equally eager and curious.

August 5. We left for the Congo at eight o'clock yesterday
morning. Our route took us south from Kabarole along
Rwenzoli, through Katwe, and around the south end of the
range, then north-w^st across the border at Kasinde,
continuing north-west on the other side of Rwenzoli follow-
ing the Semliki River , to Fort Mbeni, where we crossed the
Scmliki by pontoon ferry.

We made good time around the Toro curves over the
lovely red-brown roads, and headed for Rwenzoli. Soon
we crossed a river, rounded the mountains, then seemed to
come right up into them. Wc could see the trees along the
high ridges and the great forest neat the top.

Leaving the mountains we came into entirely different
country: straight roads, spacious grazing country with
short grass, occasional umbrella trees and gentle hills. Then
the country flattened out into far-reaching steppes, plains
covered with the special wide-blade grass we used for the
making of banana wine and for fumigation; farther along
there are plains covered with tall grass with downy tops
which is used for the making of mattresses.

Once again the aspect of the country changed, and we
drove through strange flat dried-up-looking plains^ aric
and Uasted. Very little grass and poor vegetation, almost n<
water in the streams, and occasional peculiar, very still,
glassydooldng lakes. All this part of 'the cdhntxy is very
heavily iinpreRnated mdt salti

AFRICAN JOURNEY 135

We pass^ed one of the peculiar lakes quite closely; it
looked as though it were filled with opaque glass instead of
water. Nyabongo explained that the water has a great deal,
of salt and soda in it. We passwi this lake again on the way
back, at sunest, when the far shore was red and white with
thousands of flamingoes, settled crowded on the shore
and in the shallow water. It was fascinating to sec them
move about: It looked as though the shore itself was moving,
changing colour and pattern.

Nyabongo tells us that about seventy years ago the
Baganda came over to fight the Batoro, but the Batoro
lured them down near this lake and then disappeared into
Rwenzoli and remained there.- The Baganda were very
pleased with the country and decided to settle down and
take possession. The thirsty army drank at this lake and
ha^lf of them promptly died from the effects of the con-
centrated salts in t^ie water. The Batoro then came out
of the mountains and defeated the remainder, who fled
back to Buganda where they belonged, and stayed there.
The people call this Poison Lake and never drink its waters.

As the sun was getting really hot we reached Katwe and
the salt mines. To the left as we came into Katwe is a very
large beautiful lake, Lake Dweru, and to the far right
are the salt lake and the mines. Lake Dweru is beautiful:
There are two largish islands far out in the middle of the
water, one covered with trees, and the other a big hill
which is bare of grass. All over the lake people were fishing
from African canoes not at all disturbed by the many
hippopotamuses. Pauli and I watched the hippos for a long
time: Some would rise suddenly to the surface with a big
splash and disappear again; some would rise quietly,
we would see a black spefck on the water, which as we
watched would sink out of sight. They did not seem to
bother the canoes.

The islands in the lidte arc interesting: They tell me that
in 191$^ more than two thousand Afiicans were removed
from the wooded inland to the mainland by the authorities,

136 AFRICAN JOURNEY

because of sleeping sickness on the island; nearly. all of them
soon died on the mainland because , they were unaccus-
tomed to the life there. They say that on the bare island
there were six elephants, who ate the ground clean of
grass, then five died of starvation and the last one was shot.

We went to the rest camp up on a hill and found it clean,
cool, and inviting. We had lunch, then Kaboha and
Nyabongo went out to greet the people and discuss local
affairs. I took some pictures of the lake at the foot of the hill
behind the camp; it looked like solid salt and soda with no
water at all; the tracks of a bicycle seemed to cut across
the edge of the lake as across dirty ice. I also took some
pictures of the papaya tree at the edge of the camp. The
fruit is very good.

We drove down from the ca,mp to little Lake Katwe,
the salt lake, and watched the workings of it. It is at the
bottom of what looks like, and probably is, a large volcanic
crater. The lake is an extraordinary sight from the heights
above: The still, heavy, glassy, pinkish water looks exactly
like a mirror reflecting the steep sides of the crater. Close
up the water is maroon red with iodine. The salt deposits
of this lake are unusually rich in, iodine.

The overseer, who is African and speaks English fluently,
showed us round and explained about the work. There
was a raft out in the middle of the lake, on which rock
brought up from the lake floor was being loaded. The men,
standing hip deep in the water, pulled it up. When the raft
was full it was towed to shore and unloaded. This rock
has many crystals and is called Salt Number Three. We
tasted it and found it very strongly salt.

This rock is left in enclosures made by mudb^nks in the
water at the edge of the lake. It remains there until the water
becomes stiff to the touch and is very red. When enough
salt is crystallized out it is collected, and is called Salt
Number One. This crystallization takes about four months
in the sun and air and water. Salt Number Two is very rough
and grey and coarse and looks like dirty washing soda.

AFRICAN JOURNEY I37

The workers look odd and rather forbidding with their
'black skins covered with th6 crusty salt.

The overseer told us that for many years “long before
our grandfathers*’ the Batoro have been collecting salt
from this lake, which is volcanic and natural. It had been
much deeper but now is only thigh deep in the middle.
He said the profit to date for the year is $4,500. He says
that* salt porters come into Katwe from as far away as
Ethiopia, and have been doing so for centuries.

And so on from Katwe to the Congo. Grossing at Kasinde
we reported to the customs official. He was a nice little
Belgian, very lonesome, very much out-there-in-the-wil-
derness. He insisted that we stay to talk and drink. First
we spoke English which he scarcely understood; then
French which he spoke so rapidly we couldn’t understand;
and finally German which surprisingly he spoke very well
indeed. Both Pauli and I can manage Gefman better than
any other foreign language — Pauli because of his early
years in the Tyrol, and I because of research reading in
German for my chemistry.

Our Belgian wanted to know why we were going into the
Congo and was pleased as a child when I told him I’d been
to Brussels and seen the wqnderful Congo Museum there,
and had wanted to visit the Congo ever since. His eagerness
to hear all about his homeland wa^^ pathetic. When had I
been to Brussels? Was the city still beautiful? Had I seen
the Cathedral? Did I drink at the sidewalk cafts? Had
I been to Ostend? I did my best for him in my pedantic
German, ^and he glowed with ddight.

His house was in an uproar, with his wash hanging on
the front porch, pyjamas thrown on top of the mosquito
noting over the bed, empty bottles and boxes everywh^^c.
My neat African friends seemed disconcerted at the ffisorder.
When he learned Nyabongo was fro*m Toro, fie took him
out into the courtyard and showed him his Afriesm wife,
a big Toro girl. He said he couldn’t find a good-looking
in the Congo, so had to go to Toro for one. He was

El

IjS AFRICAN JOURNBY

being friendly^ poor man^ and thought he was compli-
menting Nyabongo on the attractiveness of his womens
Nycibongo, of course, could have killed him.

Our little Belgian kept us an hour and a half, talking and
drinking. Pauli ate Up all his sweet biscuits before I knew
what was happening. 1 had to fill out three forms each for
Pauli and me, and one for the Cine-camera. He clamped
a seal on the camera. He did not ask whether I had another
camera with me^ and I didn’t say. All during the proceed-
ings he kept shouting for his “boy,’* whose name was Blotto.
Finally we got through.

The roads in this part of Congo are really dreadful — ^
very rough, With deep ditches on either side, or with dense
jungle crowding in. Kaboha kept worrying about his tyres
and kept saying, “ If we should meet another car, what would
we do?” We told him not to worry because there certainly
were no signs of* traffic — ^not motor traffic anyway.

Near the bridge of a small river we saw elephant foot-
prints, and Kaboha became transformed. Me got out at
once and examined them minutely* 'He is quite a hunter,
and his killed ten elephants. Once one nearly killed him.
He said- he shot an elephant and when it fell down he was
sure it was dead. He stood in front of it and told his boy
to go round behind attd cut off its tail, (Nyabongo says you
always cut off the tail of an elephant you kill and »show it,
else no one will believe you killed it.) When the boy cut
off the tail the elephant got up and rah for six miles, “leaving
the tail with us.” They pursued and killed it. Kaboha said
the very first elephant he killed came upon hipi at ;six yards,
and he got so excited he shot it at once, then shot it a second
time and “it fell down dead.”

We decided we were already too late to trsdl the elephant.
Nyabongo and I had nO Intenfion Of finding ourselves
on the fqad in wilderness after dark if we could help itw
Pat^, Kabdba, and liasuga were all for taldng the trsifl,
no. ' " " ,

Wc drove ndlm through deshlate stretchni of veldt

African journey 13$

and plain into rolling uplands with palms and high grass>
through dense jungle, through parklike scenery— following
the winding Semliki River. The Semliki comes down from
the mountains and is lovely: sometimes narrow, shalloy,
and tumbling over rock bed; sometimes through fairly
steep heavily overhung banks; sometimes wide and deep
and smooth through dense jungle. The river swarmf with
crocodiles, and the park-like countryside is famous for lions.
From the heights above one can see the river for miles
winding in and out through the lovely empty park and the
great forest, like a shining ribbon. Sometimes near the rare
villages, which are entirely out of sight from the road, wc
came upon women washing clothes in the shallows churning
over the rocks at the edge of the river.

Finally we crossed the Semliki by pontoon ferry opposite
Fort Mbeni, where it is very wide and deep, and the current
so strong that it pulled the heavily loaded pontoon in all
directions.

The pontoon was primitive but sturdy, and was expertly
handled by the African ferryman. It was a huge raft built
across a, scries of dugout canoes, and was pulled across the
riyer by men manning the steel cables which stretched over-
head from one bank to 'the other. Children and others bailed
out the canoes as we crossed. - '

We continued along the bad roads to Mbeni. We passed
men at work on the roads and saw the fascinating but
frightening anthills (termite hills) by tbd roadside — ^hills
much taller than a man, built and lived in by the tiny
insects.

Kaboha was very interesting on the subject of ants;
There arc many huge anthills in Toro, and the people eat
ants as a delicacy. It seems that in all anthills there is a big
white ant without any hairs, called the mother-of-the-ants
or the queen; which is always in the centre of the hili. Close
around the mother ant are the small White ants; called princes
of^ the anthill, and around these axe the red ants Which do
the wtnrk dP brixighig in the earth and bufidiiig up the hiH.

140 AFRICAN JOURNEY

If you want to destroy the hill you must get out the queen.
To do this you dig under the hill, where you will find the
roads and tunnels used by the ants leading to the centre
ai^d the queen.

There are four kinds of ants which are eaten: empahu^
the big red ants: egoro^ tht big brownish ants; entaiki^ red
but npt so big; and enaka, very small black ants. Egoro
are the real delicacy, and next are the enaka.

There is a special time for each of the ants: empahu are
taken In April, entaiki in September, egoro and enaka in
October. The ants usually come out of the hill and fly very
early in the morning — ^from one to five o’clock. To collect
them you dig a hole very near the hill, and at flying time you
hold a fire over the hole. The ants fall in the fire and drop
into the hole, and you collect them in a bag. Men catch
them. To cook them, you drop them in boiling water just
to kiH them, then dry them in the sun; when dry the hairs
drop off, and then they are ready to eat. (I have in my time
made note of many a recipe. This is one I shall probably
never use myself!)

Arriving at Mbeni, we went right to the residency in
search of the District Commissioner. He was a nice little
Belgian, very friendly and helpful. He said he had had
telegrams from Temple-Perkins, our D.C. at Fort Portal;
and that he had already reserved our rooms for us. (It
was very thoughtful and kind of Temple-Perkins to pijepare
the way for us. I must remember to thank him when we get
back.) Our Belgian D.C. gave us directions, we drove along
to the Ruwenzori Hotel, and he came tearing along immedi-r
ately behind^ us on his bicycle.

At the hotel, which was a very sad affair, we sat in the
lounge while a great deal of conversation \^ent on between
the Belgian hotel owner and our D.C. There was a lot of
“notr, notr** in very rapid French, and we tried to look
blank as though we did not understand the language.
(I believe every Negro would understand and recognize
the word “black*’ in any language. He would certainly

AFRICAN JOURNEY I4I

recognize the tone of voice which goes with the word!)
After considerable pressure* from our D.C., and a lot of
**distinguS'' and ‘‘'important** on his part against the
“noir, noir/* the oWner finally gave in and showed us to our
rooms. When* we saw them we wondered what all the dis-
cussion had been about. They were scarcely fit for animals.

Nyabongo and Kaboha had a room at the end of the
corridor; there was an apparently occupied room next, then
came Pauli’s and mine. Pauli said: “This is what we get
when we are black and important. Wonder what we*d get
if we were unimportant.** We were soon to find out. The
D.G. called for Nyabongo, who later reported that the
owner had refused to let our “boys** sleep in the hotel, but
had said they could sleep in the huts at the back. Nyabongo
found them filthy and, fearing vermin and disease, made
them sleep in the car.

The owner reluctantly consented to give us our meals,
“but not those boys.** So Nyabongo quietly made arrange-
ments with the cook and the waiter, who gave them meals
in the car. We ate in the lounge, part of which was used
as dining room, part sitting room, and part reception
desk. The meal was terrible. All through dinner the owner
kept muttering in French: “If I have blacks in my hotel
no white people will come.** Pauli finally asked: “Mama,
here in the Congo where nearly everybody is black, What
white people does he mean?** We were to find out before
the night was over.

In the sitting-room part of the lounge two young Belgians
were listlessly playing backgammon, and smoking and
drinking steadily. They were thin and heavy eyed, with the
familiar “Congo pallor/* They seemed very pathetic.

After dinner we took a short walk along the road. The
moon was up, enormous and blood red, and the sky was full
of lightning — brilliant and frightening— and low rumbles
of thunder. After we Went to bed it rained a “big rain,**
the downpour making a terrific cladter on the metal roof,
and soun^ of water flooding everywhere.

14^ AFIttOAK JOtrUNSV

In the midst of all this uproar two Belgiansi possibly the
two young backgammon players, brought two women into
the room between Nyabongo’s and mihe, and they quite
noisily and unmistakably slept together. It was disgusting:
the chatter in French between the two men, the conversation
in pidgin French between the men and the women, and the
giggly chatter in some Native dialect between the two
women.

After about an hour of this, through which Pauli slept
soundly, thank heaven, I heard the owner rush into the
room shouting: ‘‘People come, people come!” He swept
the young men and their ladies-of-the-night out of the room,
the ladies protesting and making a great fuss.

All this noise eventually woke Pauli. We could hear the
owner hurrying round the room probably tidying it up.
Then we heard two heavy men enter and go to bed. They
coughed and spit and murmured drunkenly the rest of the
night. I said to myself in answer to Pauli’s earlier question :
“What white people?” “Oh, those white people!”

In the morning we saw the owner’s Native wives — two
fresh, pert, vulgar, cheeky women, one with a half-caste
child. They were very eager to have their pictures taken,
so I took them, to show “culture contact,” as Nyabongo
says. The owner himself was a sorry 6ight with his fried
face'" and slovenly body.

In the clear morning light Mbeni is a picturesque place
with a glorious view across the Semliki to the glaciers of
Rwenzoli. It is 3,500 feet above sea level, and is said to be a
fairly healthy station. ^

We left at eight o’clock to see the Pyghiies. Our very land
and helpM D.C. had told us exactly where to go, and had
sent two of his own special African soldiers with us as
escorts and guides. We drove for about an hour throu^ the
outer rim pf the famous Ituii Forest (Great Rain Forest),
passing occasional small Bakonjo villages. We saw a lovely
family of baboons, brown with fur very like that of chow
dogs, crossing the road and swingmg away in the bushes^

AFRICAN JOURNEY 145

not at all hurriedly. We had disturbed them while they were
eating potatoes by the roadside. Leaving the road we pene-
trated farther into the forest, driving carefully, till we came
to a Bakonjo-Pygmy village. Here we left the car and
continued on foot, led by the village Headman. ^

Grace Flandrau, in her book Then 1 Saw the Congo, says
of the forest,

^‘The Ituri is virgin forest. Here and there where native
settlements have endured for nobody knows how many
centuries, the original growth had been pushed back, and
second growth or grassland made its appearance. But
for the most part it is primitive towering foVest in the depths
of which elephant, rare okapi, antelope, red buffalo and
great oily pythons live.”

Following the Headman along the path, which was like
a tunnel cut through the dense and brilliant jungle under-
growth, we were continually fascinated with the trees,
colossal and massive, with their foliage mdre than two
hundred feet above the ground shutting out most of the sky
and sun. They are really overpowering. Flashily coloured
birds twittered and sang, monkeys raced about in the trees,
swinging and chattering and passing rude remarks about
us as we passed. Pauli said they made him think of Tarzan.
Fm glad we didn’t meet up with the gorillas and elephants,
which abound in this forest, and which arc said to be
friendly!

As we made pur way through the forest we could hear
the drum of the Bakonjo village telling the Pygmy village
wc were on our way, and the^ answering /drum of the Pygmy
village saying they would meet us. I felt as though I were
taking part in a film.

Filially we reached Ngitc, our Pygmy village twenty-three
miles from Mbeni. We did not atfi^ recognize it as a village,
so cleverly have the Small huts been built among the sunny
shadows and immense tree trunks in the clearings.

144 AFRICAN JOURNEY

The Pygmies seemed to come out from nowhere to greet
us, smiling and friendly. They wore no clothes, except for
a small ruffle of bark cloth around the middle of the grown
ups.

The Headman of Ngite was immediately interested in
Pauli, and the interest was certainly mutual. The Headman
knew at once that Pauli was very young, and was intrigued
by his height and breadth. Pauli in turn knew immediately
that the Headman was ‘‘old” (he was about forty) and was
fascinated by his very small but perfect physique, which was
sturdy and muscular, %nd in beautiful proportion. When we
described big Paul to the Headman later, stressing his size
and voice, his eyis widened with eager interest, and he asked
that we make sure to tell him to come and see them when he
comes to the Congo.

The Pygmy men average four feet seven inches in height,
and the women four feet four and one-half inches. They are
yellowish brown in colour and have a slightly oriental cast
to their features.

“The Pygmies are, it is said, the aborigines of Africa.
When and if (as is now believed) the Bantus, untold centuries
ago, migrated to Africa from Oceania, bringing, the agricul-
tural arts, the native Africans, now known as Pygmies, were
driven deeper and deeper into the forest, where they
endured much hardship and incidentally developed the
finest woodcraft in the world. They may have been a small
race to begin with, or the hard sunless life may have dwarfed
them. However that may be, they are a totally different
people from the Bantus. . . . Courteous, gay, good sports,
marvellous trackers, charming companions, they pass in
and out of the for^t like shadows; never a branch cracks
nor a leaf 'rustles to ^betray their presence. They penetrate
the thickest underbrush with perfect ease.”^

“The Ituri Forest Pygmy is not a Negro, nor has he much
in common with the black men of Bantu stock who five
uear him. He ii called ‘Tiki, Tiki ^ by l^e very few white

Froia Tim ISiw Cof^.

AFRICAN JOURNEY I45

men who know him, but to many thousands of Natives
who live around the fbrest edge he is known as * 16 /

** Their district Chief told me that in all the forest lived
about 10,000 16 tribesmen. They live in small clans of
25 to 50 souls, over which a sub-Chief rules. These sub-
Chiefs are under Jn over-Chief in the district.

** There is a legend among the Bantu people that long
before they entered the basin of th^ Congo, there existed
here a race of dwarfs, who were light brown in colour,
had crispy hair, and were known as the Batwa. Native
tradition says that these Pygmies once lived near the present
Lake Tanganyika, where we 6nd today traces of an ancient
Batwa kingdom antedating the arrival of the Bantu. The
Batwa at that time had a tribal organization which re-
sembled that in existence during the same time as the ancient
Bushmen of South Africa; some of the Pygmy Chiefs can
point to genealogies that run back two and three centuries.
Like the Bushmen they are omnivorous, and like many
primitive peoples, are passionately fond of salt. Being
trackers and accomplished hunters, it is no great feat for
them to keep the meat pot boiling. The forest abounds
in wild fruits and roots, while the animal life is fairly
abundant.

**In the killing of an elephant they show both courage
and cunning, for this huge b^ast cannot easily be done to
death by their puny weapons. They stalk him through the
forest path until he stops to sleep, and as he dozes in some
sunlit glade, creep within arms’ length of his hindquarters,
then sever his .leg cords, thus making him helpless to
run.

**A messenger is sent to the nearest village, the drums
send out the glad tidings, and soon the hapless mammoth
is surrounded by Pygmies who spear him to death by heaving
their weapons and then deftly recovering them 6:0m the
elephant, using them again and again.

“Their spears are small but well made, tipped with iron
and often decorated with ivory. Their bows measure 28
inches of bowstring; the bow is made from a ftcxiblc wood,
and the string from a creeper. Arrow shafla are shaped
from the centre stem of the palm leaf, and the iron points

14$ AFRICAN J0URNBY

from a metal they mine from the earth and smelt and pound
into shape themselves. ^To make poison, they seek the asagc
tree, cut chunks from it, pound these to a pulp and squeeze
the juice into a pot. The arrow pointii are placed in this sap,
and all are boiled together. It is a most deadly poison and
kills even the hardy buffalo within two hc%rs’ time.

“The Ifi medicine men have some interesting practices
in connection with the use of herbs found in the forest.
There is very little sickness among the Pygmies excepting
rinpvorm and outer skin afflictions. . . . They are a happy
people, and continue to multiply.'*^

We bought some of the bows and arrows with poisoned
metal tips, and some musical instruments. The Pygmies
posed readily and graciously for photographs, and accepted
the cigarettes I gave them with delighted gratitude. As
we left them, smiling and waving, we promi^sed to send them
some salt. Nyabongo says the salt will be a very great
treat.

We then said farewell to Ngite and the lovable Pygmies.

On the way out of the forest we stopped at another road-
side village, Matembe, where the people are again a mixture
of Bakonjo and Pygmy. These people arc very interesting,
and the women wear curious heavy iron ornaments*—
bracelets and neck halters. 1 bought some of these, and one
old lady insisted on taking the halter from around her neck
and presenting it to me. The men thereupon tied her to a
tree and pried it off her neck. When I saw how it had ^o be
removed I hastily pi^otested, but they all assured me that it
couldn’t possibly hurt her, that it only seemed awkward.
The iady herseli looked at me ^th a twinkle in her eye and
sniiled as though to sa5f > “This is a goqd ehance for me to
get this thing oft* my nedk, so don’t spoil it.” She looked so
pleased after it had been removed I probably

understood her sipile. She it since girlhood and

it amuld probably have remained on all her Hfe.

S^tah^ by ^o^er.

APR20AN JOURNEY 147

Many of the ladi^ in Matembe were smoking pipes and
spitting far with expertness. .

Continuing out of the $3rest, we came again upon our
friends the Ghowlike baboons. They-were chattering and
playing, and eyed us with friendliness. But as soon as I
brought out my camera they scolded and swung away
through the trees. We saw lots of other monkeys sitting up
in trees. They seemed to stop their own conversation,
regard us critically, comment shrilly while frankly pointing
at us, then go back to their own social affairs ignoring us
completely. They behaved so much like people that Pauli
said, severely: “You really mustn’t j&oiW. It’s very rude!”
We heard many signs of life in the dense jungle undergrowth,
but by now we were no longer afraid.

On the way back to Mbeni we stopped at an obscure
village in search of ivory and ebony work. After friendly
gccetings and pleasant conversation with the people, the
Headman brought out all he had, and I bought it alL First
he showed me some ivory salad spoons and forks, napkin
rings, and a shoehorn (of all things) which had been made
for some European tourist. They were beautifully carved
to show the lovely grain of the ivory. I bought them, then
asked for traditional pieces. He smiled, disappeared for some
time, and returned \rith two magnificent ebony heads, a
pair, man and woman, simply and beautifully carved,
nearly life size, I was thrilled with them, and when he saw
how much I appreciated the beauty of the work and the
wood, he seemed vastly pleased. He also brought out a
.pair of small ivory statuettes and some lovely ivory bird
figutes, all smooth and yellow with age and simply and
beautifiilly carved. He wanted to give me the ebony heads,
but i managed tactfully to pay for everything I bought.
1 also remembered the dgarettes and salt^ and the villagers
were delighted. .

Back tb Mbeni, where we had lunch^ By this time the
hotel owner had for some r^bn decided we were very^
and so he rushed aroimd sei^^ himself.

148 AFRICAN JOURNEY

At one time in his excitement he put three sugar bowls on
our table. He told Nyabongo somewhat apologetically that
he had never seen any black peopje like us. Nyabongo assured
him calmly that there are plenty like us. We collected our
things, paid our bill, and left. On our way out we called in
at the residency to tell our D.C. how much we had enjoyed
our visit to Ngite, and to thank him for his courtesy and help.
He was very pleased.

We went back to the border by another route so we could
see as much of the country as possible. Along the road in
many places we saw canoes being hoUowed out from the
great trunks of trees which had been felled. The men work
on the trunk where it falls, hollow it out, shape it up, then
transport it to the water. The canoes are made of mahogany,
oak, and other sturdy woods.

Along the road Nyabongo pointed out a special palm
tree with a very long tall trunk, called mukoga. The fruit is
edible, the leaves are used to thatch houses and to tie bundles,
the trunk is split and used as polfes for housebuilding, the
ojl in the fruit is used for cooking, the fruit can also be
planted and gives a stemlike potato which is edible. They
certainly use the mukoga!

There ivas another odd tree along the road, not so special
and not so rare, called miihora. It has'ap unusual white trunk.
We saw a lot of giant mahogany and the ebony or “hard**
trees. Another tree which was quite common was a very
peculiar, heavy, cactus-like affair with extraordinary inch-
thick leaves which are so dark green as to look almost black.
I photograjphed them both at a distance and close up. It
is called nkukuru. If you break a leaf or merely, prick it, milk
is released from the inside. Nyabongo says you make a
out of a little cooked plantain, put one drop of this
milk inside the pill and swallow it; it makes a much stronger
purgative than castor oil.

^Airived once more at Kasinde, die border, we found our
little customs official having his nap. The “boys** rdused
to call him, so we hallooed and got him up. He was friendly

AFRICAN JOURNEY I49

and cordial as ever. We gave him back our papers, he
unsealed the Cine-camera, we drank some beer and chatted

while, and left.

Crossing the little border river, the Rubiraha (the Scratch),
we were again in Toro with good roads and no tyre worries.

Right after crossing into Uganda, while still following the
Semliki, we came across the tracks of a herd of elephants.
Kasuga spotted them first, and at once Kaboha, keen and
excited, leaped out of the car and began searching the river
bank. We all followed, equally interested, and traced the
great footprints right down to the water’s edge. The river was
quite shallow and narrow at this point, and as we scanned
the opposite bank we saw the herd grazing peacefully in the
high grass among the trees. There were two enormous ones
with tremendous tusks which looked very handsome and
rich in the waning sunlight; many not so large, and some
funny awkward cute babies. We whistled and hallooed and
blew our motor horn to attract their attention. They put
up their huge ears, waved their mighty trunks, shifted to
get the wind and place our smell, then continued to graze
calmly. We watched them for a while, and Kaboha said
longinily: “Look at those tusks!”

As we climbed back into the car Nyabongo said, “Now
we have seen elephants, we will see everything.” Sure
enough we soon came across bucks — beautiJful beige-grey
animals about the size of deer. Four of them crossed the road
just ahead of us, undisturbed by our quiet car, and casually
strolled away through the bushes. We had a good close-up
view of them and saw the extraordinary mark on their
back hindquarters — a definite clear-cut circle of the beige-
grey colour with a black outer rim> very like a target. Their
skin looked rich and furry.

Just at dusk we came across a family of lions^ Pauli and
I were breathless with excitement, but the others in the car
were not at all frightened. They brought the car to a soft
stop with engine running quietly; Kasuga reached for his
gun, then we froze. We all remained nerfectlv stilL nrenared

150 AFRICAN JOURNEY

for anyinuig; There was a sense of concentrated interest
and tension, but no sense of fear.

Only a few yards ahead of us Papa lion went from the
middle of the road to the high grass at the left edge, where
he stood still for a second or two. Then Mamma lion came
out of the grass beside the spot where Papa stood, followed
immediately by an adorable baby cub. They crossed the
road sedately, single file, with Papa falling in behind,
disappeared into the high grass on the right, and slowly
walked away. We could see their tails just above the grass —
held up stiff like flagpoles/ with the tuft of yellow hair at
the end. Kaboha says they hold their tails erect when they
sense danger.

They were big tan-coloured animals with large heads
and very thick shoulders, slimming down toward the tail;
powerful looking but with a top-heavy, very unpleasant
shape. Nyabongo says they always travel single file, the
female first because she is quick and fierce and dangerous,
the cub between for protection, and finally the male, which
is slower, but sure and terrible.

I will never be able to walk in the high grass again!
ril bet Pauli won’t either.

On through Katwe, round the Toro curves, home, and
gratefully to bed.

August 7. Kabarole. Although we had scarcely got our breath
from the Congo trip, we left this morning for Kampala, to
attend the Kabaka’s (King of Buganda) Birthday Tea.
Every year on the Occasion of his birthday all European
and AMcan officialdom and society in Buganda conic to
pay their respects to the king. It is the big social event of
the year,

We Stopped in for a few minutes to say hello to Mukama
before we left> and gave him a hurried report bn the Congo
safari. He was delighted to hear we had had such a sathfy-
teg trip, and was properly ini^ressed with Pauli*s excited
icixmnt of the and lions. With his usiisd

AFRIGAK jOXTRjnSY I5I

practicality he warned us not to stay in Kampala longer
than necessary, to be very careful of malaria^ and to take;
all possible precautions against the mosquito^ there. We
must all take quinine, we must drink no water whatsoever,
and we must stop to rest en route at the dispensary at
Kasemyi Mbende.

He then loaned us his own safari car, the luxurious Ford,
and his own personal driver, '‘because it will be more
comfortable for the long journey/’ We thanked him for his
kindness, gratefully settled ourselves in the car, and set out.

As we left, Mukama had a word with Pauli, man-to-mari
fashion. He said he had called the Bamba down from the
mountains to dance for us on the twelfth of August. It is a
very special honour. Pauli is delighted and impressed.

It was a long hard drive to Kampala. At first it was quite
cloudy, and as we rounded the Toro curves from hill to hill,
the clouds and mist in the valleys looked like lakes, actual
sheets of water. As the sun came out the “lakes ” slowly lifted
and we could see the fields beneath. Nyabongo says that in
the early morning the clouds often hide whole villages.
We had fog too, so thick we had to use the windscreen
wiper. The fog somehow amused me* One expects it in
England, but not on the equator.

On the road I developed a terrific sore throat, at the top
near the back c£ my noSe. My temperature went up and up,
and lUy throat got worse and worse. Probably a germ I
picked up m Congo or Katwe. I tried not to let the others
know, because we were all tfrOd and sleepy.

I was thankful when we arrived at Kasenyi Mbende and
stop]^ed at the dispensaty. Mukama certainly knew what he
was talking about when he insis^d that we stop thcre« The
young Afxscan in charge pkve me one look, led me in^e,
took my tethpe^ature and pulse, exammed my throat and
no^ dxo^ughiy, then me some potassium chloride
sedudon and made me gargle dU 1 was tdzzy. After we had
rditad and had had lunch, be made Us ail garj^e very

15 a AFRICAN JOURNEY

man was very efficient and had been in charge of the
dispensary for ten years.

At Kampala we stayed with the Kalibalas, Mr. Kalibala
is a Baganda and was educated in America, at Tuskegee
Institute and Columbia University, where he took a
master’s degree in education. His wife is the daughter of a
Negro Baptist preacher in Boston, Massachusetts. Kalibala
is handsome and well built, with smooth glossy black skin
and wonderful teeth. His sister Gwera, who lives with them,
is very like him and handsome too, with lots of spirit. The
Kalibala baby is adorable.

The mosquitoes were terrible. We rubbed oil on our skins,
but it had no effect. Pauli said : “These mosquitoes are some-
thin’, they haven’t even got respect for the oil.” I developed
a roaring fever, my throat felt like a grater, and my head
was bursting. Nyabongo gave me medicine and watched
me carefully, and had me on my feet again by morning.

Kampala is an interesting and colourful town with good
roads, shops, smart African police, markets, and handsome
African women. The women wear a long robe wrapped
around the body just under the armpits, leaving their
beautiful brown shoulders and arms bare. They have a
leisurely and stately carriage.

August 8. Kampala. Went shopping this morning in the town.
Bought the inevitable postcards, some books of African
stories, and some comic papers for Pauli at the Uganda
Bookshop and at Wardles’. Also bought some tins of sweet
biscuit for Pauli.

Went to the Kabaka’s Tea in the Palace grounds at three*
forty-five, and was su^rised. to find it a typical English
garden party. A charming marquee was built on the great
lawn, an African band in uniform played all afternoon,
European and African guests in every imaginable variety
of dress lined up fo shake hands with the Kabaka and his
quccn-^who were themselves in European drbs. Their young
sons^ die princes^ stood close by and looked rather interesting*

AFRH 3 AN JOURNEY 153

We had lots of tea, all kinds of delicious sandwiches,
and a slice of the huge birthday cake with white icing,
which was delicious. I am afraid Pauli had many slices
of the cake. Every time I turned back to our little table
after greeting someone, I would find him with another
slice. When I protested, he looked up with big innocent
eyes and then winked at me and said: “That tall bronze
waiter over there is a pal; he understands boys. I didn’t
ask for it. Mamma, really I didn’t; he just gives me a slice
every time he passes.” “I think,” I said severely, “everyone
is supposed to have one slice only, as a sort of souvenir
like at a wedding; you’re not supposed to make a meal
of it!” Then the waiter gave me another slice. It was
awfully good.

Archdeacon Bowers came over and we had a nice chat.
Some Europeans, the Grants (he is the head of the South
African Bank), came over and asked to be introduced.
They asked me an interesting and unexpected question:
Was Paul considering settling in Africa? From the inflection
I gathered that was an idea which was worrying them.
No one else had put it into words. If big Paul comes out to
Africa to live, will it dffect Native reaction to Europeans,
and if so* how? Quite a question!

The band played “God Save the King,” announcing
the arrival of the Governor of Uganda (British) and his
lady — His Excellency and Mrs. Mitchell. The Kabaka
and his queen and the Governor and his wife then strolled
through the crowd in the garden to the centre table, and
had tea. Later Governor and Mrs. Mitchell very graciously
invited Pauli and me to come and stay with them at Govern-
ment House, before we leave Uganda.

From the tea we all went on to the annual football game
in Kampala— old Budonians against Mwenge. Both teams
are African, but of course Pauli and I immediately plumped
for Budo, which is Midcama’s alma mater. The sports
ground wRs very pretty and very crowded with Europeans
and Africans who, on this occarfon, ' sat side by side. The

154 AFRICAN JOURNEY

Kabaka and the Gk)vernor strolled the field, and the
game began.

It was a good game, the players making remarkable
kicks with their bare feet. All sorts of calls — in Luganda,
Rutoro, English, German, Swaheli — mingled with the
noise in the stands. The score at the end was 3 to a in favour
of old Budonians. Pauli enjoyed every minute of it all
and played the game strenuously from his seat.*

We went home to the Kalibala’s for supper, conversation,
and bed.

August 9. Sunday. Nyabongo arranged for us to visit Busoga
and Bunyoro, two more of the five provinces which make
up Uganda, on our way back to Kabarole. So this
morning we drove to Jinja, the capital of Busoga, which
is only a few miles from Kampala, on the shores of Lake
Victoria.

On arrival at Jinja we went directly to the President’^
house (Busoga has a president, not a king like the other
provinces), and waited for him and his guest, the Mukama
of Bunyoro, to return from, church.

The President’s house is on a hill, commanding a magnifi-
cent view of Victoria Nyanza (Lake Victoria) and the
famous hill in the distance where the mutiny of the Nubians
took place. Nyabongo tells me that Lord Lugard brought
Nubian soldiers down to fight the Uganda people, and
on this hill the Nubians mutinied, killed their white officen
who refused to give up &eir arms, and buried them. The
hill is called Bakalebk, All Africans revere it because it
was here that Africans decided not to fight brother Africans
without good reason their own, merely because Europeans
told them to*

The Mukama of Bunyoro slipped out of church and came
back early so we could have tea and a good talk* We made
a date to visit him at HoiiUa, his ow capital in Bwyoro.
Later the President oC Busoga joined us, and we all had lunch*
hk the afternoon the President took.us to see the Parliament

AFRICAN JOURNEY 155

House, which is open, spacious, dignified, and well built
in a style suited to the country. The little library near by
was charming and reasonably well stocked.

We saw the prison, clean and pleasant and sanitary, built
to house sixty-five prisoners. They tell me they rarely have
more than thirty-five. There are two cells for women,
whom they don’t keep long. More than half the Cases are
for nonpayment of tax. The President tells me they try
all their own cases here in Busoga, except murder.

Later we went to the lake to see the famous Ripon Falls.
The waters of Victoria Nyanza are fed by the melting
snows from Rwenzoli. The water leaves the lake by way
of the falls, and, as the White Nile, begins its long journey
north to the Mediterranean Sea. We walked along the pa^
quite near the water’s edge, watching the crocodiles and
hippopotamuses lazing in the shallows above the falls.
The falls are not very high — ^not,morc than twenty feet —
but it is fascinating to watch the great lovely sheet of water
break over the rocks and tumble down. It is the tremendous
volume of water rather than the height of the falls which is
impressive.

Just below the rocks huge fish — Nile perch averaging
thirty pounds in weight — ^keep trying unsuccessfully to
leap the falls and reach the shallows above. Fishermen
line the banks of the river and cruise about in canoes
catching them.

On the road from Jiiya back to Kampala we passed large
sugar-cane fields and the small African factories where the
syrup is extracted firom tte cane. We watched it being cut
and piled up. Nyabongo says that the stalk near the ground
js the <Hily sweet part; the upper stalk with leaves is cut
off and put into the ground to grow again. Pauli and I
chewed some, of course, and found it Very sweet. You chew
the stalk, the sugar comes right out, then you spit out the
fibres. Nyabongo stopped us immediately when he saw us
chewing. It seems you can get fever from it, and an itch.
He says it is not liked much m Toro, and is only used by

156 AFRICAN JOURNEY

children and lonely people. Herdsmen do not use it, because
it disagrees with the milk.

Back in Kampala at the Kalibalas’ we found some fifty
people waiting for us. They were all Bagandas, all in
European clothes, and all argumentative. One young man
had been educated at Howard University in Washington,
D. C., and several had been to school in England.

August 10. We left Kampala this morning for Hoima, to
keep our date with the Mukama of Bunyoro. Half way
through the journey a spring in our car broke and we found
we had lost the bolt in the road somewhere. We had to
park by the roadside for hours, waiting for a car to pass by.
We found a deserted Indian shop near by and sheltered
there, out of the broiling sun. The villages a little distance
away heard of our plight and came along bringing gifts pf
tangerines — ^which were, very welcome — and stools to make
us comfortable, and sent a man on a bicycle to the nearest
town, Busonjo, to fetch a mechanic. An African bus came
along and Nyabongo sent Kusuga with our luggage on to
Hoima in it, while we waited for the mechanic.

After hours of waiting, two cars came tearing along,
and seeing our parked car, stopped to see what they could
do. (Now I can fully appreciate road courtesy in Africa!)
To our delight the Mukama of Bunyoro was in the first
car, and his saza chief in the second. They took Pauli,
Nyabongo, and me along to Hoima with them, leaving
a man in charge of our car. We drove through a heavy
storm, so we were doubly thankful for the lift. A little
before six in the evening we wound our way over the sur-.
rounding hills of Hpima, through the lovely green valley,
and up to the central hill. The bus didn’t arrive until after
ten o’clock, and Kasuga and our luggage were soaked with
the rain.

We had dinner with the Prime Minister of Bunyoro at
ten-thirty f.m., and such a dinner! Tiicy had killed a sheep
and a goat, there were millet, plantains, and potatoes.

AFRICAN JOURNEY I57

with sm-sem and other relishes. The Prime Minister was
great fun. I put a very tired Pauli to bed at eleven-thirty,
and myself equally tired at midnight.

August II. Hoima. Awoke at six-forty-five this mormng.
The Mukama sent over a dream breakfast for us: fruit,
eggs, toast, coffee, ‘and a botde of wine ! It was very sweet
and thoughtful of him. *

The hills of Hoima are picturesque and Ipvely, guarding
and shutting in the fertile valley rich with banana gardens
and palm trees. Hoima is about seventeen miles fiom Lake
Albert, and the temperature is usually 80 degrees or more
in the shade.

I photographed the ‘‘old things’* around the house in
the morning, saw peanuts spread out in the sun to bake^
and the basketwork granaries in which the millet is
stored.

We spent the whole afternoon with the Mukama. His
queen came in to greet me at teatime, and we had a pleasant
chat. I found her attractive and interesting.

The Mukama told me something of the history of his
country : He said Bunyoro had been the biggest and
strongest of all the kingdoms from Sudan to Abyssinia
and down well into the Congo. Toro, Buganda, Nkole,
and the rest were all part of Bunyoro. Grant and Speak
were the first Englishmen to pass through; they saw all the
wealth of ivory and skins, gave his* father (the then Mukama)
the Bible, “which he ignored,” and passed on, “doing no
harm.” Then Baker came through, gave his father a gun,
a watch, a knife, etc., became friends with him, and “did
no harm.” Later on Baker .came back and upset a lot of
the Chiefi in Bunyoro. Mukama sent him a message asking
why, since they were friends, did he abuse his chi^? Baker
thereupon began a war (about 1898) which lasted for six
ycars^ In;the end England conquered Bunyoro, deliberately
put the Kabaka on the throne of Buganda and jnade it a
strong kingdom, strengthened Toro and Nkole (all these

158 AtmaAN JOURNEY

had been mere accessories to Bunyoro), and exiled his father
to the Seychclle Islands ** because he had killed Europeans.**
This present Mukama went as a servant into exile with
lias father so that he might learn all the history of his country
and prepare himself for his kingship. He now rules his
people with the help of the Lukiko (Native parliament)
and the assistance (???) of the British district commissioner.

We left Hoimafat six in the evening for Kabarole, driving
over the hills, around curves, and through forest in heavy
rain. We saw jackals, deer, and wild pig. This belt of heavy
tropical forest teems with elephants, lions, leopards, buffaloes,
antelopes, and dog-faced apes.

August 12. Kabarole. We slept late this morning, tired out
from our long drive from Hoima last night. In the early
afternoon I was working on my notes, when I heard a
rhythmic singing and sent Pauli to investigate. He came
tearing back, shouting excitedly that the Bamba had come
down from the mountains to dance for us. We hurried
out to stand on the veranda and watch their arrival.
Everyone from all over the house and grounds came to
join US.

The Bamba, who are quite small in stature, came into
the courtyard singing,- dancing, leaping. They danced
up to us shaking their spears in greeting, then backed and
separated into two groups, one group with shields and spears
facing the opposite group 'with branches and leaves. They
danced a mock fight which was very exciting, some from
each side falling dead so realistically that Pauli was
alarmed.

We thanked them warmly as they left and gave them salt
^^ch we had brought from Katwe. They had walked
seventy miles to dance for us!

This afternoon we went to see Nyabongo*s grandmother, a
remarkable old Ikdy who is thought to be about 120 years
old*^ Nyaboiigo says she has always seemed to him as old
as she is now-^always on the cou^^**-rince h baby*

AFUIQAN JOtXfel^EV 15^

He says she used to be fat, now she is thin and her eyes are
^azed with a film of age, but her mind is clear and She is
aware and intelligent. She was very mudh interested in
Pauli, and said: ‘‘That boy belongs to jlS“Sec his mouth,
eyes, nose, the shape of head — pure African. Oh,^yeS, that
boy belongs to Africa, to us.*’ She said my hair, eyes, nose,
and “especially my spirit” are African.

Later we went along to pay a formal visit to Nyabongo’s
mother, who received us in state in her house. She looks
exactly like her daughter, the nurse. She gave me some
beautiful presents-^ gourd for drinking water “which
you never let touch the ground,” but hang on a peg on the
wall; it has the cutest little papyrus stopper which keeps
out the dust. She also gave me a special sponge wash**
cloth like those used by the bisahi ladies : One side is made
for brushing the rows of hair into that peculiar style o£
headdress, the other side is used for bathing, (Most Of the
ladies in Uganda like to keep their hair cut very short and
some shave their heads; it is a matter of taste and fashion,
as well as convenience.) She also gave me a beautiful
piece of baric cloth, I was especially grateful to her, because
these are all things I have wanted very much indeed and
have tried hard not to ask for.

Au^t 13. There is an important and interesting senior
saza chief in Butite whom Mukama and Nyabongo waritcd
me to visit. He is one of the “Grown^and-Beard” chiefe.
We drove over today to see him.

On the roads between Kabaroie and Butite we had
magnificent views of the snow peaks and g^ciers of RWenzoli.

It was a pleasant and interesting visit. On arrival we had
tea with* lovdy dainty jam sandwiches, which were cer*-
tainly appreciated by Pauli. The ladies came out-^the
Chief *s wife and daughters. It & a great pleasure to see
the Women, at test. Word has gone around tfiat I always
iSk fer the worn so contrary to custom they come out
tb sen nte.

rfiO AFRICAN* JOU&NEY

The people asked stimulating questions, and were
extremely interesting and friendly. The Chief brought
out his “Crown** and proudly showed it to me,

We had a delicious lunch, English style, with a fluffy
jam omelette at the end.

And srf home to Kabarole, photographing the Toro hills
on the way. .

When we reached home we found the most enchanting
family waiting for us. They were Nkole people, in Toro
on a visit, and had come to urge us to go to their country.
(There has been some doubt that we could fit in the Nkole
trip.) The family was large, consisting of two ministers,
their wives and children and relatives. The ladies had
their heads shaved and looked odd at first, but only for a
few minutes. They were all vivaejous, friendly, and enthu-
siastic about their country. There were two adorable
infants in arms, and an equally adorable toddler — all
dimples and mischief.

August 14. We leave tomorrow for Nkole, and go on from
there to Government House at Entebbe, to visit the
Mitchells and then to board our plane for London.

So today we went to the palace to say good-bye to
Mukama, and to thank him for all his charming hospitality
and interest, thoughtfulness and practical help. I tried
to make him understand how very much we appreciated
his great kindness. He was very gracious, said he had
enjoyed our visit very much indeed and hoped we would
come 4gain to Toro, next time bringing big Paul.

We bade good-bye to Templc-Perkins and thanked
him for his kindness m helping us in the Congo. We thanked
Kaboha add all our Toro friends warmly for all they had
done to make our visit so interesting, comfortable, happy,
and fruitful. When I said good-bye to the house <st^,
the hoys asked me to take a picture ^of them all together,
artd send it to them. I did $0, and will certainly send them
drints. I suppose thev have-seen me haul out mv camera

AFRICAN JOURNEY l6l

fot everything under the sun> and thought I might as well
take a picture of them, too. And^o I might. I should have
thought of it myself.

August 15. We left Kabarole this morning for Nkole, the
cattle kingdom of Uganda, and the last of the five provinces
which make up the protectorate. We drove along the Katwe
Road, then left.it and crossed the channel at Katunga.
All along the road we saw the salt porters, who come on
foot from all parts of the country to Katwe for salt. Nya-
bongo says they have Been doing this for centuries.

The channel at Katunga connects Lake Dweru and Lake
Kirasamba. We crossed by ferry, this time worked by
paddlers, to Nkole country.

Leaving the channel, we drove along flat country for a
wMe, then climbed hills and circled sinister-looking craters^
We wpuld climb what appeared to be a small mountain,
and arriving at the top we would look down into the
“mountain’’ and see that it was a crater of an extinct
volcand; at the bottom we would see a still, clear lake
ranging in area from one to twenty miles, the shores green
with lush vegetation and the crater walls rising sheer to the
rim of the “mountain.” We would circle the rim, descend
into a valley, and climb the next “mountain.” From the
tops of these hills there is a magnificent view of the forests,
the great plains, and -the “gold country.” On the roadis
were many people travelling with all their personal posses-
sions, on their way to dig gbld. It is said there are accessible
gold deposits in some parts of Nkole, and there are always
some people on the move in search of itv

It is strange and sinister-looking country, unnatural arid
volcanic, with a forbidding beauty. The elevation is from
six to seven thousand feet in some p^ts. and the clih^ate is
temperate.

Crossing the plains to Mbarara^ >we passed numerous
herds Of cattle gmsdng^ peacefuUy in* t^^^ grass. The
l^^dsmen ealled out to us in Mendly Rte^ng. Nyabo

iBa AFRICAN JOURNEY

had taught us some Runyankole (language of Nkole)
on the wayj so we were able to greet the people in their
own language.

Mbarara is the capital of Nkolc, and quite a town.
Mbarara is the name of the grass the cattle eat, the name
of the district, and the name of the town.

Arriving in the town we found the market in full swing.
(I must say Nyabongo plans things well. Market day brings
out all the people, and all the produce and wares.) I found
the women handsome and was interested in the great bulky
ugly anklets they wore, made of silver wire and hair.

At the palace we learned the Mugabi was ill, so we
didn’t stay or see him. They tell me he is an enormous
old man six feet seven inches tall.

The Prime Minister was out of town, so we were passed
on to the Saza Chief, who was acting for him. He is a
fine type — dark, dignified, quiet, and very intelligent.
We had a most interesting conversation, and when in
passing I mentioned the O- — -s, my white colleagues in
anthropology in London who had done research in Nkole,
he immediately sent for another Chief— Ernest Mugoba —
in whose saza the O— ^ — $ had lived and worked.

Together these Chiefs asked many leading questions:
about the Indians in America (that surprised and impressed
me), are they still on reservations, do they have the vote,
has their property ever been returned to them by the
government? About Negroes in America, about European
and American attitudes toward Abyssinia. About Negro
thought and Negro education and Negro political status in
America and in Euxope.

I did what I could to cope With these terrific questions,
then I in turn asked some questions about my colleagues.
The Ghiegi told me^ they Ukd Mr. and Mrs. O-r-r-r; the
Prime Mixiister had made them Welcome and had loaned
them a home;^vf*Thcy had a car,” they continued^ ^'so
we huih a ' hohse [garag^ The

hid wmited: more than a nmnt^

AFRICAN JOUR’NEY 163

had visited the kraals. A veterinary student from the school
had acted as their interpreter, and the Mbarara high-school
boys had helped them in their investigations. Later on
we took a walk about the town, and I saw the house and
garage where they had lived and worked, and the student
who had been their interpreter.

In the evening several Chiefs and many people came
in to see us. After answering as many of their questions as I
could, and giving them news from “outside,” I decided
to bring up a question of anthropological investigation
that had been on my mind for some time. I asked the people
what they thought of visiting anthropologists, and how
they liked being “investigated.” They smiled and said they
were vastly amused, and would often take the searching
and impertinent questions as a game, giving the most
teasing, joking, and fantastic answers they could think of,
so that the interpreter would have a most difficult time
trying to translate the answers into something that would
sound “serious, and respectful.” (Shades of scientific
anthropological data!) The chiefs said they did not sec how
any reasonable person could hope to study the intimate
details of a life and people wholly strange to him, if he knew
nothing whatever of the language. “ It is elemental. Besides,
knowing the language of a people is a gesture of respect,
and a proof of real interest,” they said. White people arc
nbt interested in us. They only want to take away our land
and our cattle, and make us pay taxes. Why should we tell
them oiy: sacred history, and,, the details of our. social
:>rganization? ”

August 16. Mbarara^ Up -at five, breakfast^ and off to
Bntebbe^ the last lap of our journey on the ground in Africa.
On the way we came to theivillage where the Prime Minister
>f Nkole was visiting on buriness of state, and had a most
ihtcrestihg chat /^th bfan. I found him a fine old man,
full of knowledge. *they tell me the prime mJhisters in
Airican society are the ones who know all the hbtory and

164 AmiOAN jOUkNEY

body of knowledge of the people. And so it seems. This is
important, because there is no written history. Some of the
chiefi, and of course all of the kings, also know the history.

Just as the geography of Nkole is strange and different,
so also are the people. There are two clearly distingtdshable
types — the tall thin straight people with thin lips, high-
bridged noses j and tan skin stretched over high cheek-
bones; and the sturdy black people with thick features.

‘‘The coinmon people [of Nkole] are a rather different
type from that of the aristocracy; these retain more or less
the pure Hamitic strain of the invaders who not many
centuries ago came in from the northeast and imposed
themselves on the country as a ruling cast,”^

“The inhabitants of Nkole are two distinct types — -the
mass are rather well-deyeloped black Negroes, but the
aristocracy, the now celebrated Bahima are, when pure
blood, quite dyferent to their former serfs and subjects.
They have the features of the Hamites or of the Ancient
Egyptians, and sometimes quite reddish yellow skin. They
are passionately fond of their cattle, despise agriculture
which they leave to the subject race, and live mainly on the
produce of their flocks and herds. The Bahima, from Egypt,
according to Native legends, appear to have founded
dynasties of Kings in Uganda; they were possibly the me^
by which Egyptian notions, and musical instruments of
Egyptian shape, were introduced into the coimfries around
Uganda.

“So far 33 tradition goes, the Bahima of Nkole caii trace
the genealogy of their kings for about 30O years back.
The Baganda can recall their kings for a period as far distant
as the fifteenth century. Though the Uganda dynasty no
doubt belongs in its origin to this Hima stock, which^ is
Hamitic and of the same race from which most of the carUer
inhabitants of Egypt proceeded, nevertheless as for several
hundred years it has maitied N^o women of the indigenous
racci its modem representatives are merely Negroes, with
larger cleiarer, eyes, and sUghdy pakr ^ s^ find Om

• * iFrbiii by Juliab ttudey, published b^ Ctatto St Windui.

AFRldAN jOtJllNEY 165

‘‘merely Negroes ** hard to stomach, but if one quotes, one
must quote accurately!]

“Their cattle are noble adjuncts to the landscape of
granite tablelands, rolling downs and ornamental trees.
Larger than almost any other breed of cattle in existence,
with straight backs and enormous spreading horns/’ ^

I find it very hard to accept this division of Africans here
in Uganda into upper and lower classes, yet everywhere it
exists. There is a definite aristocracy usually connected with
cattle, and a definite common man usually connected with
agriculture.

After leaving the Prime Minister, we saw his magnificent
herds some miles away, just off the road. We found one herd
on the right, and then an enormous one on the left of the
road; the latter were on the move and all we could see at
first was a moving dark mass of bodies and a great sea of
horns.

We talked with the herdsmen and the herdboys, and
photographed them with the cattle. The herdsmen were
everywhere among the cattle, some in front, some on cither
side, some in the back. The calves followed, farther back
and quite separate. Still farther back some women followed
in a group, rather like camp followers — some carrying
umbrellas, and these umbrellas were entirely covered with
flies. Flies were everywhere — on the faces of the women
and boys, often entirely covering the rim of the lower
eyelid so that it looked as though it was painted with
mascara, and the mascar^ was moving. Sometimes the flies
covered the whole face. Tlie people seemed to pay no
attention to them. Afl along the way, wherever .cattle \yere
near, there was a pestilence of flies, tauli was, very much
troubled by this, espc<n,ally by the flies rimming the eyes
ofthccbil^n. / " \

And so on to Ps^ittebl^, the British administrative head-
qua^ers ojT the Uganda Prot^tpifiate, and to Goyemmeht
House. "

* The Uganda Protectarak, by ^ iflanfy Jfoiuuton.

|66 AFRICAN JOURNEY

Coming into Entebbe was like coming into another world,
a European world in the very heart of Africa. All the jungle
and underbrush has been cleared away from the town
and its surroundings. The approaching roads are polite,
with only the slimmer of the towering trees. The countryside
is very beautiful, and in spots the town itself even suggests
a lush, very rich, dreamlike English landscape. I found
it lovely but slightly artificial, as the pictutes in Town
and Country^ House Beautiful^ and other similar magazines
are artificial. I daresay my taste is African, but I like my
beauty more on the natural side.

Nyabongo dropped Pauli and me at Government House,
and we said good-bye until tomorrow, when he will see
us off at the airfield. The mansion is very beautiful and
luxurious. It was early Sunday evening, and the Governor
and his guests were at church. We were receiyed by the
very English A.D.C. and shown to our rooms.

We had restful baths, and as dinner was to be late, at
eight, Pauli’s dinner was sent up* on a tray at seven- thirty.
After he had eaten I tucked him into bed with some comic
papers, and went downstairs.

At dinner I found myself seated at the Governor’s right.
TheVe were many other guests, most of them English.
Everyone was charming to me, and the dinner was perfect.
After dinner I had an interesting talk with His Excellency,
arid, among other things, we discussed the problem of the
education of the African. There is to be a conference here
soon on higher education for the African — ^ranking college
education-r-and my good friend Matthews, from, Lovedale,
is to be on the committee. Tliat’s yery good.

The Governor seemed a' friendly intelligent man,
patercstefl' in arid' an^ous to get on with his job of
admimstration. I am of course Srndiy against patriarchal
s^lministration, but it exists, w until o^e cari change it,
one must try to make it a^ reason^Sle ba possible. Trying all
the wkile to change itj of course. It wiUAflwtb be changed
There is no doubt of that

AFRICAN JOURNEY l 6 j

So when His Excellency asked me for suggestions, I was
in a quandary. I couldn-t tell him I believe his office should
be held by an African. (There are many Africans fully
qualified to hold it well.) That would have got us nowhere.
In fact, all my ide^ would have been most indigestible
for him, would have alienated him when he wanted to be
friendly. Yet I had to say something. So I ventured three
ideas :

1 . That he support the idea of higher education for the
African people at the approaching conference, against all
opposition.

2. That he not accept too confidently the reports of all
the district commissioners, because some o£ them do not
understand the people, are intensely disliked' by them; and
under these conditions it is practically impossible for such
officials to know what is going on — except what they are
told, since they do not understand the language. I specifi-*
cally gave Temple-Perkins as an example of the other kind
of official — ^sympathetic, interested, and well liked by the
people in his district.

3. That if he really wanted the people to feel he was
interested in them, and wished to be courteous to them,
he must learn at leasf the greetings and polite salutations
in their own language. This is a gesture which would be
appreciated, and would break the ice and establish a
reasonably friendly atmosphere for conferences.

In fact I am convinced that it is impossible to work
wth a people in smy serious and constructive way, unless
o^e knows at least some of the language. Not knowing a
language, one must rely on interpreters, and they are
notoriously varied in their dependability. Many interpreters
in Africa, and elsewhere, are people who have learned the
language as a means of getting a job and advancing them-
advea^th^ therefore frequency colour their interpretations
in <nrder to ingradat^ SUfime of tkem •a.ro nol;

1

t68 AFRICAN JOURNEY

interested in or sympathetic with their own people, nor with
the idea of improving conditions and relations. Many merely
use the knowledge to earn a living, and give it a bare
minimum of attention and interest. Occasionally, as with
teachers, one finds a gifted interpreter-r-sympathetic, under-
standing, constructive — but these are rare. How then can
relations with a people, and administration of them, rest
upon so unreliable a foundation?

His Excellency took my suggestions and comments in
gopd p4rt, and thanked me warmly. I know my friend the
Mukama of Toro will be startled if some day at an official
function the Governor greets him in Rutoro 1 The Governor,
in turn, will be, surprised what such a gesture will do for him.

I regret tha^ I was not ready nor able to give some really
constructive suggestions to His Excellency. But < my time
in Africa has been all too short, and so very, very full,
•that I have only been able to see, feel, and absorb as much
as possiUe. T have purposely postponed weighing my
material and impressions and analysing them until I have
had good time to sort them out and appreciate them
meure fuBy.

We joined Mrs. Mitchell and the other guests in the
drawing room and had some pleasant conversation about
many things and many places^-^about England in general
and London in particular; about Paris, New York," arid
Hollywood (cf all places!) I ♦was able to ‘give a first-
hand report on some of the stars and some of the aspects
of film making, because we had made the film Show Bo^
in Hollywood l^t winter.

And, so up to our luxurious suite. Had a look .at PauH
sloping so soundly and sweetly in his bed, and had to kiss
hin^ agatii, v^ quietly. ‘ * <

I lay, and as Pauli says, “wrestled with
iny i^ponsil^ Should 1 have said more to the
ObverhoFf hkve

Was liiiir tike tinie and jdaceF Had 1 nmilfed aaa opp^^

AFRICAN JOURNEY l6g

These thoughts disturbed me, troubled me deeply. As
always when I find myself in an unprecedented situation,
I fell back on my instincts, hoping they would be sound.

^ I dccidcjd I had gone as far as I could with His Excellency
I did not know the extent of his power to initiate changes,
granted* he wa:nted tdWo so. I was a guest in his house,
talking with him for the first time.' Maybe this was not the
time nor the place.

; I thought back over my conversation with him. So at
long last they are seriously considering African education,
and have reluctandy advanced to the idea of at least talking
about college standards!

If I could influence or guide this education in any way, I
thought humbly. What would I suggest? I thought back over
Julian Huxley’s very clear presentation of this problem,
in 1931. It seemed to me then, and seems tQ me now, the
best discourse on education for the African people, for any
people; anywhere.

'‘The first principle is no longer in dispute — ^it is that
Africans should receive some , education. ... I mean
that it is not in dispute in reasonable-quarters. There are,
however, a great many people who still believe that it
would be better to have the African as uneducated as
possible.* These disbelievers in Native education belong
to two typesv One is the type which thinks of black men
solely as labour-fodder, and believes that education inter-
feres with their inclination and capacity to work. It should
not surprise us that this attitude is often met with among
employers of labour in Eiust Africa, since it is by no means
tancommon at home in Bri^n. It is, however, hiore ^hah
usually rampant in Afiica. r . .

“The other anti-educational type is the sentimental pro-
Native, the believer in the noble savage, who sincerely
^nks that Aflican Natives should be allowed or even com-
pelled to confinue as far as possible in their original way
of life. Theie might be something to be said for this point
of view — ^if it were but practicable ! Here and there it may

170 AFRICAN JOURNEY

worK reasonably tor a moderate time, as with the
Tanganyika Government’s handling of the Masai. . . .
But it cannot last. The mere presence of the white man in
Africa makes it impossible for the primitive condition of
things to continue. ...

“Before the white man came Jfhey had edupational
systems of their own, usually connected with the rites of
initiation into adult life. These were doubtless crude, ♦based
on tradition and magic rather than on science and inde-
pendent thought; but in their way they were definitely
adapted to the people’s existing mode of life, and were
inculcators of important virtues like bravery, tribal solidarity
and respect for social authority. ...

“I agree entirely with Mr. J. H. Oldham when he says
that *^hc fundamental business of Government in Africa
is education.* . . . What should it be, what .goals should
it have? Some see in it a means of training the leaders of
the coui^ry; If education is to be given to the masses too,
its aim should be to Teach them to know their place, or,
as it is often more unctiously put, ^ to be pontent with the
station in* life to which it has pleased God to call them.
This point of view, it will be seen, envisages two quite
distinct kinds of education — one for the classes, the leaders,
the other for the masses, the workers, the contented-with-
thcir-appointed-lot. You may wish to provide both kinds of
education for Natives (as in Tanganyika, where Tabora
caters specifically for the sons of chieft), or you may wish to
restrict native education to the second type.

“Closely allied with the station-in-life school of thought
is that which would teach the Natives (or working classes
when there are no Natives about) nothing but trjules and
useful arts. . . . The one maintains that the station in life
to whiefi the lower classes or races have been called is cheap
production for the benefit of the rest of the world; the other
is concerned with the inner* life which, \riiile cheaply
producing, they should cultivate.

' ^Link^ on to the leadmlup view, on the other hand,
is tfic idea th^t an education— a real educaripn — is some^
thing which stamps^ one a ^member of the upper clashes,
a superior pei^on.

AFRICAN JOURNEY I7I

“It may be expedient that a few men should know for
the people; the danger comes when a considerable number
of men think that they can provide their sons with the
prestige arising from knowledge by giving them the oppor-
tunity — denied to the children of poorer parents — of spend-
ing several years imbibing a special brand of rather useless
information. ^ .

“The first thing to consider is not what the teacher
would like to teach; not what the ideal human being ought
to know; not a curriculum framed to cover the range of
human knowledge and activities, in relation to which
children are so many examination candidates. The first
thing is what the child can profitably learn; what is suited
*0 the needs and desires of limited human organisms in a
)articular enyironfnent; a curriculum framed to promote
he development of individual growing boys and girlsi
This is the modern biological idea of education, which
you will find wherever people have reaUy thought out their
ideas on the subject, and are not carrying on by inertia or
merely putting their prejudices forward iii the guise of ideas.

^“Then there is the double principle that education
snould be adapted to the local environment of time and
place, and yet give the opportunity of transcending that
environment. This is the ‘dual mandate’ of education.
It recognizes that men and women have to be prepared
for earning their livelihood and doing the work of th€ world,
but recognizes equally that they should be introduced to
those ideas and activities — ^in literature, history, science,
religion, art and other forms of self expression or self
realization — which will enable them, to reach a level of
existence aboVe immediate drudgery or, anyjthing of purely
practice scope* '

“Working out the application of these principles. We
hrrive at some such conclusions as the following;

“Education for the Afiican boy and, girl should have its
practical aspect, but should also concern itself with ideas
:$md activities of no immediate practical value. In both these
aspects it should include handwork as well as headwork>
nor .should activities concemed^with setf expression, such as
singing and dancing, games and acting, be neglected^

AFiaCAN JOURNEY

It should not be too ambitious at the start, but should at
first aim at making the children understand their own
African . surroundings in a new way, later linking this
knowledge on to broader themes. It should aim both at
giving sound elementary education to the many and at
providing opportunities for the few of outstanding ability
or keenness to continue up to a higher standard. ...

“There are many people who quite sincerely believe
that the most valuable lessons ‘which Natives can learn
come from their association with white men and their
methods, and that accordingly the real interests of the
Natives are most paramountly served by setting more and
more of them to work as labourers on European estates.
There are others who, again quite sincerelyj believe that
Natives will be on the whole less happy if they learn to read
and write, grow civilized and tjiink politically, and would
therefore make Native education severely and solely
practical. In the same way the ‘development’ of Native
peoples can be interpreted in a hundred different ways to
suit current ideas and prejudices. And further, in many cases
these vaguely benevolent principles are interpreted oh the
fatal assumption that the white man always knows what is
best for the black man, that the Native must not be allowed
to make experiments in case he makes mistakes, and that
benevolent European guidance should prescribe the exact
course (tf the Natives’ development even if what it prescribes
is by no means always what they want. ... ' *

' . the criticism that the African acquires only a

patchy knowledge and a patchy character as the result of
European methods of education is very insecurely grounded.
Such results ^re undoubtedly produced; but theV are
produced by an educational system which is itself patchy. . . .
* “Then there is the general impression, rc-inforced by the
positive testimony of nlen who have lived for decades in
close contact with the Native African, that he is on the whole
irresponsible, improvident, and lacking in the higher ranges
of intelligence. This is largely offset by the equally impressive
testimony of the same men in favota: of the negro’s loyalty,
his chee^ulness ana gaiety' even under trying conditions,
his fine physique and physical courage.

AFRICAN JOURNEY ^173

** On the other side may rightly be adduced the fact of the
negro’s extraordinary vitality, in Africa, in spite of disease,
in spite of enervating tropical climate, in spite of slave-
raiding and alien domination. This inherent vigour, ex-
pressed visibly for all to see in the magnificent physique
of so many tribes is a first-rate asset of the race; and it is
not merely vigour in general, but vigour in the trying
circumstances in Africa, Besides this, there is the fact that
in very various tribes there do arise men of high distinction
and intelligence, whose foresight and wiir enable then to
achieve remarkable results. In addition to the well-known
examples from Zulu history, one may mention Lenana, the
celebrated medicine-man of the Masai, or Rindi, the prince
who united the Ghagga. And besides these outstanding
personalities, there are plenty of others possessed of very real
character and ability, above the average for any race
whether white or black, to be found scattered among the
tribes. Powys, in his Black Laughter^ mentions a Kikuyu
strongly endowed with artistic impulse and talent; the
present Sekibobo of Buganda is a distinguished orator
with a fine and balanced character; I have seen a native
teacher with a passion and genius for teaching which would
have satisfied the heart of Sanderson of Oundle; I have
spoken of the litde Kavirondo himchback with an innate
gift for machinery; the mere existence of the Colour Bar
Bill in South Africa proves that the Bantu are sufficiently
able to learn skilled occupations to compete on terms of
reasonable equality with the skilled white artisan. . . .

"Tf the present state of affairs continues, in which only
about 10 per cent of native children get any education
whatever, (and perhaps 2 or 3 per cent any education worthy
of the name), we shall naturally not arrive at that general
background of cl^anged ideas from which alone a new social
tradition can spring”^

It is dawn. Finally sleepy, I salute Mr. Huxley, nip over
to Pauli’€ bed and kiss him quietly once more, then settle
down to sleep in my own luxurious bed.

* From Africa

174, AFRICAN JOURNEY

August 17. Government House, Entebbe. Up fairly early to
finish packing. Pauli had a very good night. We both feel a
little strange in all this British official luxury, Mrs. Mitchell
suggested a swim before breakfast to Pauli. There is a beautiful
pool in the grounds. Pauli needed no urging, and in two
minutes was in his swimming trunks and down at the pool.
His fine physique is a very neat sight in trunks, and he swims
very well indeed. The innumerable African servants around
the house watched him discreetly, and they seemed nearly as
proud as I was when they saw how well, though modestly,
he handled himself in the pool. Mrs. Mitchell was charming
and cordial at ^breakfast, and I was later a little surprised
to learn that she is South African. Fniglad I didn’t know it
at first, else I would have been socially reserved and uneasy.
Not knowing, everything was pleasant. *

We left Entebbe by plane at one-forty this afternoon.
The Governor sent us down to the airport in his official
car with the Union Jack flying from its hub. The plane
officials and passengers were duly impressed, and any
objections they might have been tempted to make about
our colour were cancelled out. Arriving in the Governor’s
car in Africa is like arriving in the King’s official car in
England. (This is the second time I have, had a ride in an
official car; the first time was with Paul and Larry in
Prague, when the American ambassador sent the official
embassy car, with the Stars and Stripes flying from its
hub, to fetch us to the embassy.)

The plane, the Horsa^ was a beauty and most comfortable.
It had come from Johannesburg, collecting passengers on
the way; it will go on to Alexandria, and via Persia to
Karachi, India. We will go with the plane as far as
Alexandria, where we change to a seaplane for the crossing
of the Mediterranean to Brindisi, Italy. From Brindisi we
go by train through Italy up to Paris, whence we tak^
another plane to London. No jone is allowed to fly over
Italy now. There mUst be something brewing which they
don’t want anybody to see!

AFRICAN JOURNEY 175

Nyabongo and some African friends saw us off in the
plane. We &re to see Nyabongo in London in the autumn.
He has really made this Uganda trip a classic experience
for* us.

Pauli and I were terribly excited and climbed into the
plane with our throats full. It is his first flight. I have flown
often from London to Paris, but that is only a short unim-
portant flight. The inside of the plane was like a Pullman
coach, roomy, with very comfortable double adjustable
seats and lots of windows.

It was fascinating to see the ground roll away from under
us and feel almost no motion. Neither Pauli nor I are good
sailors, and that is an understatement. But the flight was
smooth, and before we knew it it was five o^clock, and we
came down in Juba, in . the Sudan.

The plane does not travel at night, so all the passengers
went to a marvellous hotel. We had a bath, tea, dinner later,
and a very good night’s sleep. It was sweltering when we
arrived, but cooled off late in the evening. We slept under
nets, and there were slowly revolving fans in the ceilings of
all the rooms.

August 18. Juba, Sudan. With the plane, the Horsa, Up at
six, ate an elegant^breakfast, and went to the plane with the
other passengers in the pouring rain. We took off at seven-
thirty, and flew over the Sudan all day. The countryside
looks desolate and deserted. We saw many giraffe, running
about with their peculiar slow-motion gait, looking like
something prehistoric with their great thick arched necks.
We saw a herd of a hundred or more elephants, and when
the shadow of the plane passed over them they trumpeted,
startled, and scattered. The pilot always comes down when
there is anything interesting to sec, and circles so the.
passengers can get a good view/ Pauli is thrilled.

We came down at Malakal at eleven-thiity for lun
igain at Kosti at two-thirty for tea. Both are tiny
isolated in the vast wastes of the Sudan. The Sudaj

176 AFRICAN JOURNEY

is boring — swamp, marsh, and steppe, with very little sign
of human life.

Just before reaching Khartoum at five o’clock, we saw the
Blue Nile on our right, coming down from Lake Tana in the
mountains of Abyssinia, well north of Addis Ababa. This river
overflows its banks regularly. On the left was the White Nile,
which we have been following all the way from Entebbe.

Khartoum is a beautiful city, built on the banks of the
river, where the White and Blue Nile come together. On
one side of the river is the European city of Khartoum,
and on the opposite side is Omdurmari, the Native city,
the former capital of the Mahdi and Kalifa. The contrast
between the two cities is so great as to be indescribable.
KJiartoum is modern, with wide streets, big cool white
buildings surrounded by spacious well-kept gardens, border-
ing on the lovely parks on the right bank of the river.
Omdurman is old-world, Arab, and African, with its narrow
winding streets and thousands of small low miid buildings,
stretching for eight miles along the left bank as far as the
eye can reach. Omdurman was the important gum market
of the world — the gum was brought in by camel from the
great Kordofati Desert below.

And between Khartoum and Omdurman flows the
fabulous Nile. Here the White Nile, the waters from our
Rwenzoli, and the Blue Nile, the waters from the mountains
of Abyssinia, come together but have not yet mingled, and
are clearly distinguishable. The clear dark blue waters from
Lake Tana seem to hug the right bank and reach less than
halfway out into the stream, spurning the dirty heavy waters
which have come two thousand miles from Lake Victoria
and collected a lot of mud on the way. Pauli says ‘‘our*’
White Nile goes placidly on its way, mud and all, paying no
^attention to the elegance and clarity of the Blue Nile. They
tell me the waters do not mingle for many miles.

August 19. Khartoum. With the plane, the Horsa. Spent a
very bad night in the hotel. Think 1 must have picked up

APkiGAN JOURNEY

some germ somewhere. I’ve got alarming dysentery, and
certainly don’t feel I can tvtx make it home as planned.
I looked at Pauli sleeping so peacefully and confidently,
and decided that I would go as far as I can, and when
I can go no farther I’ll telephone big Paul to come out and
collect us. I know I must be pretty sick to be planning this
way, because I am definitely not the kind of person who has
to be collected, and I always like to finish everything I
set out to do. But this dysentery is already cutting me down,
and I am fervently hoping that Paul is back from Russia
according to schedule, and at home in London.

The Horsa took off early. Fortunately the flying was smooth
and I could manage. We came down at Wadi Haifa, in the
burning Nubian Desert, for lunch. The heat was terrific.
The steward warned us not to touch the brass handrail
beside the plane steps, lest we burn our fingers. Scorching
winds blew and we all melted on the way to the tents where
we ate. I have never imagined such heat. Of course it is
August, and we are in the desert.

The Africans hereabouts are extraordinarily handsome.
They belong to the Shilluk Tribe and are about seven feet
tall, not broad but lithe and beautifully built. Their skin is
bronze-black, well oiled and beautifully kept, and they wear
no clothes whatever. Pauli just can’t get Over their height.
“They are taller than Daddy, but they are not as broad,”
he said. Nobody can be as everything as Daddy.

Up again in the plane, the pilot climbing to 10,000 feet
in an effort to escape the heat. We continued to follow the
Nile. The countryside has been uninteresting all the way
froth Khartoum— desert, suggesting an ancient sea bottom,
in places very like a real sea with sand washing the rocks
instead of water. Very desolate, with a sinister calm.

More desert and forbidding sand dunes on the way to
Luxor. Passed over the First Cataract of the Nile; from the
heights it didn’t look like much. Saw occasional patches of
welcome green as we approached Luxor, The air became
very bumpy and tht Horsa lost her smooth mdffon. Poor

178 AFRICAN JOURNEY

little Pauli was violently ill and spoiled his smart tropical
suit, to his chagrin. The oth^r passengers were ill too, so he
wasn’t too self-conscious. I was already pretty sick, so the
bumps just made me sicker.

We came down at Luxor for the night, and I was thankful
to crawl into bed in the magnificent hotel. The innumerable
Sudanese servants became interested in Pauli and me, and
when they saw I was ill, just took charge. After long restful-
hours in bed with no motion to become adjusted to, I felt a
little better, and they moved me out onto the balcony of
our suite for supper. I wasn’t able to eat anything, but we
made a party of it so Pauli wouldn’t notice, and he enjoyed
the meal very much indeed.

From the shelter of our balcony we could see the date
palms in the hotel garden, and in the distance the camels
and donkeys leisurely winding their way along the streets
and canal banks.

The Sudanese offered to get a reliable dragoman to take
Pauli to hear-by Thebes to see the ruins, but he didn’t
want to go without me, and I felt that with the great heat and
his stomach upset in the plane, perhaps it was best to skip it.

The heat was terrific. It lay like a pall over everything.
And dust was everywhere. Fans only stirred the hot air, did
not make it cooler. It was too hot to sleep under the nets,
but when I saw the size of the mosquitoes I put the nets
down and closed them oyer our beds.

August 20. Luxor. Still with the plane, the Horsa. I felt
better this morning after the rest, and find that by keeping
very still and as flat as possible, I can hold on. The Sudanese
were marvellous to us, coming in very quietly during the
night to do what they could to make me comfortable.
They collected all our laundry last night and returned it
fresh and crisp this morning, and Pauli looks very smart in
the beautifully washed tropical suit.

We took off early this morning as usual. The plane is
still following the Nile, very low, and the scenery is most

AFRICAN JOURNfeY 179

interesting. Luxor is perfectly beautiful from the air. Pauli
and I saw the ruins at Thebes after all, when the pilot flew
low and circled them slowly. They are a group of colossal,
roughly hewn, highly coloured statues, strange and fascina-
ting, standing brilliant and stark in the desert, vivid
reminders of the ancient civilization in this part, of Egypt.^

The pilot took us low over Cairo, and slowly circled the
Pyramids and the Sphinx so that we ‘could get a close-up
view. They are simple and impressive, and one is quite sure
they will calmly endure through thousands of years to come,
Cairo is fascinating from the air — oriental with its mosques
and minarets and narrow streets, but very modern in the
central part, with fine buildings and wide streets. The
“Paris of Africa.”

We flew- on over the green, palm-fringed banks of the
Nile to Alexandria, where all the passengers who were going
to Paris and London left the plane. The passengers bound for
India continued on with the Horsa,

It was well before noon when we came down at Alex-
andria. Our seaplane was not due until the following
morning, and all the passengers s^ent the rest of the day and
night at the Hotel Cecil, which was right on the Mediter-
ranean. Pauli and I were very comfortable in a cool spacious
suite with balcony overlooking the sea. I had a very light
lunch in bed, and Pauli had a very solid one on a table
on the balcony. He was delighted with the ice cream for
dessert, and kept running back and forth to my bed between
courses to report the interesting things he saw on the strand
and beach below and in the harbour. It waj a bit of a job
to hide from him the fact that I couldn’t manage my lunch.

I was anxious for him to see something of Alexandria,
so after four heavenly hours in bed, we went downstairs and
hired a car and a dragoman from the hotel. The dragoman
proved amusing. He was Egyptian, and his name was Jimmy
Hassan. He proudl/ showed me a letter of recommendation
froai Ripley, of “Believe It or Not ” fame, and said he had
been guide for Ripley, Gary Cooper, and many other

l80 AFRICAN JOURNEY

celebrities. He said he had gone donkey riding with Gary
Cooper. Pauli is a great admirer of Gary’s, and was hilarious
over the idea of those long Cooper legs astride a little
Egyptian donkey. Hassan went oh to say that he was a fan
of Paul’s, and when he saw the names Robeson on the hotel
register, he decided to wait for us to come down so he could
have the honour of showing us something of his country. .
He also wanted m6 to take a message to Paul: ‘‘Paul
Robeson must make a film in Egypt, with us, and about us,”
he said. I will qertainly tell Paul. It’s an idea.

We drove along to the bazaars where I bought a few
things. I was unable to leave the car, so the merchants
brought their wares to me. The streets were narrow and
crowded and the bazaars were bristling with activity.
All the Egyptian ladies wore black and were heavily
made up about the eyes only; no rouge or lipstick, but
mascs^a plastered thick all around the eyes. The people
were all colours, very like our own negroes in America —
from deep black through all the shades of brown to rich
cream and white. Nearly all had straight black hair. When
I asked Hassan if they wefe all Egyptians he said: “All, all
Egyptians, all children of the Pharaohs; the dark ones have
much blood from Sudan.” He himself is tan coloured.

I found I couldn’t sit up longer than an hour, so we had
to get back to the hotel, and I w^nt back to bed. I had made
an appointment with the hotel hairdresser as I went out,
feeling fairly ambitious, but had to send Pauli down to say
I was too ill to keep it. The hairdresser, an Egyptian,
came back to the suite with Pauli. It developed that he too
was a fan of Paul’s, and had seen his films and heard his
records.

“What a voice,” he said, “I like the bass, it is big and
rich and wonderful. But Madame is ill?” he asked sym-
pathetically. “Then I do your hair in bed if necessary, and
it will make you feel bettcR”

And he did, too, and gave me a scalp treatment as ’yell,
which certainly made me feel better! It seems he has worked

AFRICAN JOURNEY l8l

all over the world, from Shanghai to Hollywood ; he had all
the latest portable equipment, and even knew all about
Negro hair, which was a welcome surprise.

In the evening the Sudanese moved my bed over to the
balcony where I could see the lovely panorama of the harbour.
I was very disappointed over not being able to Hake Pauli
sight-seeing, but he seemed very happy and contented on
the balcony. Fortunately the view was magnificent: the
wide colourful street below, the wonderful stretch of sandy
beach, the great variety of interesting ships in the distance,
and the lights in the evening.

August Qi. Alexandria. We cross the Mediterranean today
by seaplane, the Scipio^ via Crete and Athens to Brindisi
on the southern tip of Italy. I had a bad night, but I think
the long rest has done me good. Anyway I feel able to hold
on for another day. If I don’t feel better when we get to
Brindisi, Fll go into a hospital there and have Pauli telephone
big Paul, ril keep my fingers crossed and see.

The Scipio is k handsome craft. We taxied out of Alexandria
harbour and rose smoothly over the calm blue Mediter-
ranean.

Some of our fellow passengers in the Horsa have gone on
to Persia and India, and some of them are continuing with
us to Paris.

The charming American family from Wilmington,
Delaware, is still with us. And $o is the English Colonial
from South Africa.

Pauli and I had been extremely cautious with these
passengers. The Wilmington people were “southerners,”
and this typical Colonial was a special brand of poison to
us, as Negroes.

By the time the Horsa YidA reached Khartoum we were aU
on very pleasant speaking terms. When we reached Alex*
andria we were on much more than speaking terms.

The Wilmington family, in spite of their Southern
origin, wei^ charming, friendly, and interesting. The

i82 AFRICAN JOURNEY

%

attractive middle-aged man and wife had come with their
two stalwart handsome sons (about nineteen and twenty)
for big-game hunting in Kenya. They had had wonderful
luck, and had enjoyed their trip enormously.

The Colonial was on the elderly side, red faced, choleric,
and given to asserting himself. He had spent many years
in South Africa, made his fortune, and is now returning to
England to enjoy it. He has the utmost contempt for ‘‘the
blacks,” as he calls the Africans, and in fact does not think
too well of anything or anybody not British.

It took him quite some time and effort to adjust himself
to the fact that Pauli and I — “blacks” — were actually fellow
passengers with himself. Finally, as he saw the other
passengers one by one become friendly with us, he too
broke down and talked with us. (Fm sure it never once
occurred to him that we did not want to talk with himl)
In the end we had some very interesting conversation.

He was obviously a lonely man, and iti spite of himself he
was very much attracted to Pauli. When he came to know
us better he made a curious remark:

“Son of yours a fine boy, fine boy. Incredible he is only
nine years old. So intelligent.”

I said Pauli had been around grownups a great deal,
and perhaps was informed beyond his years because of
that.

“No, intelligent insisted the Colonial gruffly. “Pity he’s
got that handicap.”

“What handicap?” I asked, my feathers ruffling.

.“Pity he’s black. Pity. Could go far.”

“He’ll go far because he’s black,” I said. “His colour, h
background, his rich history are part of his wealth. We
consider it an asset, not a handicap.”

He was surprised and interested. “Don’t understand,”
he said.

“Of course you don’t,” I said pleasantly, and let the
conversation drop.

But I con^nued the conversation in my mind.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 183^

Soaring in the c;louds, with the strange distant toy
world spread out below, I felt removed from earth-bound
things*

Why am I really glad and proud to be Negro? Why am
I sorry for this pitiful “superior’* European? Why do I
actually feel superior to him?

This poor man doesn’t know what it’s all about. He has
no important or useful knowledge about more than a
billion of his fellow men — Negroes, Africans, Indians,
Chinese, probably Jews, and probably Russians. Most likely
he has simply dismissed them contemptuously as “primi-
tive,” “oriental,” or “Red.” He has built himself into a
very small, very limited world of his own, behind a towering,
formidable wall of ignorance, prejudice, and “superiority.”

This typical Colonial seems to me weak, uncomfortably
self-conscious, lonely, pathetic, and frightened.

Certainly he is weak, else why must he carry and maintain
armed force — and plenty of it — everywhere he goes, always?

Certainly he is uncomfortably self-conscious, else why need
he insist — loudly, constantly — that he is superior? Really
superior people take their superiority for granted.

Certainly he is lonely and pathetic. Has he not arbitrarily
walled himself off from more than two-thirds of his fellow
men, the non- white peoples of the world?

And certainly he is frightened. One has only to watch
him when he rants about the “rising tide of colour,” aboutv
the “yellow peril,” etc., to realize he is frightened. Only
fear can explain much of his irrational behaviour toward his
non-white brother.

On the other hand we, as Negroes, at least know what it’s
all about. We know our white brothers— l^ow a great deal
about them. They have shown us all their strengths and all
their weaknesses. •

We have not built any walls to limit our world.

Walls have been built agadnst us, but we are always
fighting to tear them down, and in the fighting, we grow,
We find new strength, new scope.

184 AFRICAN JOURNEY

We look at slavery — personal, economic, , and social
slavery — and we know that it has done ns grave injury*
But we have always fought that slavery, resisted it every-
where, continuously; and in the fighting, in the resistance,
we have survived and grown strong.

In fighting a just cause, in resisting oppression, there
is dignity.

We look at those who have enslaved us, and find them
decadent. Injustice and greed and conscious inhumanity
are terribly destructive.

Yes, I am glad and proud I am Negro.

Crete, Athens, Brindisi, Paris, London.

All a dream and a nightmare, because I was ill.

August 25. London. I made it home. With Pauli’s sturdy
help, I made it.

It seems that Mother arrived in London more than a
week ago from her summer in Russia, had prepared the flat
and sat down to wait for us. Paul had joined her a few
days later.

Paul picked up the paper four days ago, and read that our
plane, the Horsa, was overdue at Karachi and was thought
to be lost somewhere in the Persian desert. (It was found in
the desert several days later, with the passengers, pilot, and
the nice steward, hungry and parched with thirst, sheltering
under the great wings of the plane.) Frightened, Paul called
the airways office, and they assured him we had changed
at Alexandria from the Horsa to the Scipio, for tHe flight
across the Mediterranean.

Two daysjater he picked up an evening paper and read
that the Scipio, in landing at Crete, had gone straight to the
bottom of the sea. The passengers and crew and some of
the mail had been rescued. (This was on the return trip
firom Brindisi to Alexandria, but Paul didn’t know that
then.)

Frantic, he rushed round to the airways office for news of

AFRICAN JOURNEY 185

Pauli and me. They explained that we had been safe
aboard the Paris train when the accident happened.

Paul and Mother drove down to the Croydon Airport
outside London to meet us. Pauli, with vast relief, turned
his Mamma Dear over to Daddy and Grandma.

‘‘She was awful sick, but I brought her home safe,*’ he
said proudly.

December^ Enfield, Conn., U.S.A.

A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since Au^st,

1936.

I have continued n\y study of anthropology over the years
— in England, in Russia, and now here in America at the
Hartford Seminary Foundation.^

In Russia I was excited and profoundly moved to see for
myself how the so-called “backward,” “primitive” peoples
from the formerly remote wastes of Siberia and Asia have
b^en stepped up to active and constructive participation in a
highly industrialized modern state. The Institute of Minorities
in Leningrad is a place to visit, study, and revisit.

Today the question of Africa is even more interesting,
exciting, and pressing than heretofore. Africa has at long
last come into focus in world thinking. The interest and
attention of the world are now, reluctantly, directed
towards that great continent. The North African Campaign
was crucial in this war. That’s where we got our toe hold
in this present march to victory. Vitally important supply
bases, repair bases, airfields are in Africa. Critical raw
materials — rubber, essential alloys used in making steel,
palm oil, cotton, cocoa, radium come from Africa. The
Free French were given new life, hope, and impetus because
of the loyalty, courage, and political astuteness of F^Hx
£bou6, the black Governor of the Chad Region, in French
Equatorial Africa. International aerodromes have been
established at strategic points in North, West, Central, and
East Africa. Dakar, Cairo, Brazzaville are known to millions
of the newspaper, rz^io, and film public.

i86

AFRICAN JOURNEY

Formerly remote Africa is right around the comer, by
plane.

But far more important than all this is the fact that for
the first 'time since the penetration of Africa by the white
man, the people of the world will have to consider the
people of Africa.

Until this war, the only people who were even vaguely
aware of Africans as human beings were missionaries.
Tourists, business men, government officials, and politicians
— with few exceptions — considered the Africans (if they
considered them at all) as savages, labour fodder, and
pawns.

This war has changed all that. The people of the world,
in fighting for their own freedom, have come at long last
to sense that no man can be free until all men are
free.

Many people try to avoid facing this reality; many people
arc facing it reluctantly.

But Hitler, in his insistence upon the superiority of the
few, his few, over the many, in his ruthless enslavement of
some peoples and the extermination of others, has shown
clearly that race inferiority, tolerated so complacently
yesterday because it meant the non-white, today comes out
to mean the non- Aryan, the non-Nazi that slavery so
complacently tolerated yesterday because it meant the
African, the Negro, comes out today to mean all the con-
quered peoples.

When an aroused world, at last determined not to continue
to waste its wealth and manpower in periodic destructive
wars, carefully considers the securing of a permanent
peace, realistic, statesmen will have to consider seriously
the freedom of peoples.

Millions of soldiers (including Africans and Negroes)
have been fighting in remote places of the earth for
Democracy and the Four Freedoms— for themselves, and
for their people.

Since these millions are men of aU nations, all colours.

AFRICAN JOURNEY 187

all creeds, they are fighting for Democracy and the Four
Freedoms for all the peoples of the world.

Many of these soldiers have, alas, died for this high goal.
I believe there will never be peace in the world until
people achieve what they ^ have fought and died for.

Africans are people.